


Unmasked

by ellispark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cas is not the world's greatest detective but he's trying his best, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Red Hood AU, Secret Identity, Supernatural Trope Celebration 2020 (Supernatural & Supernatural RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 69,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellispark/pseuds/ellispark
Summary: Years ago, the infamous vigilante Halo disappeared from the public eye. The new Halo, Castiel Novak, is struggling to pick up the pieces of his own life and his mentor’s tarnished legacy as a new rival, Hellfire, arrives on the scene.It would help if Cas weren’t so distracted by pushy reporter Dean Smith, who reminds him of everything he’s lost — and the life he could have if he’d let go of the mask.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 58
Kudos: 183
Collections: Supernatural Trope Celebration 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Celebrity Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody!
> 
> Before we get started, I just wanted to say thank you to my artist, SoloArcana, for the lovely art you'll see in this fic. Thanks for stepping in and knocking it out of the park! Check out their Tumblr [here](https://soloarcana.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also, this fic is tagged as a Red Hood AU but it doesn't stick to any particular Red Hood storyline. It's mostly inspired by _Batman: Under the Red Hood_ (because duh, Jensen as Jason Todd) but you don't need to be familiar with that movie or any of the comics to read it. In the same vein, to my hardcore Batman fans — no one is really the Bruce Wayne of this fic, so don't throw anything at me.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The ballroom at Shurley Manor is an ostentatious room filled with ostentatious people, and Castiel Novak is bored with it all.

All of Purgatory’s elite are gathered in the center of the room like a flock of peacocks, decked in their glittering gowns and sharp suits, flashing their money with the wave of a bejeweled hand. They’re ostensibly here to celebrate the causes of the Shurley Foundation, a charity network founded by Cas’s father, but no one is talking about charity. Cas stands in his corner, aloof and alone, and listens as Purgatory’s richest and finest talk elections and tax breaks and vacations in St. Lucia, and his frown deepens. No one approaches him at these things anymore, which is good for him, but due to the acoustics of the room he still picks out every meaningless conversation anyway.

There's one person who’s allowed to seek him out at these functions, and she’s making her way through the crowd now. Cas follows the flash of red hair as his sister Anna dodges a handshake from the mayor and a hug from Dick Roman, twisting in their grasp with a polite but edgy smile. Anna’s never liked being touched, and yet all the men in the room seem to want to put their hands on her. She’s beautiful in a fragile-looking way — pale skin, thick red hair, thin and fine-boned — but Cas would put his money on her in a fight any day, if it were to come to that. It won’t. This is a polite gathering, and she’s managed to avoid being entrapped by purposefully twisting through the crowd to get to him, her mask slipping down over one ear until it’s adorably lopsided.

“Castiel.” Anna was the first to call him Cas, and now she’s the only one who ever calls him by his full name. “We need to talk.”

Cas glances out over the room, plastering a fake smile on his face when the governor’s wife spots him and waves. “Can’t business wait? We have guests.”

She scoffs. “You’re hardly paying any attention to them. You’ve been sulking over here all night with the most foreboding look on your face.”

It’s true. He knows almost everyone in the room by name and face if not by business dealings — the governor, the mayor, various state and city politicians, important businessmen, and some slightly washed-up actors and singers. They don’t interest him, and he’s running out of the will to pretend they do. He grabs a champagne flute from a passing waiter and downs half of it.

Anna presses on, “It will only take a minute, Cas, but we really need to—”

“Hold that thought.” If she’d rather he pay attention to his guests, then he’s found the one he could stand to talk to. There, hanging at the edge of the dance floor, is one of the most beautiful men Cas has ever seen. Broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, perfect facial structure not well hidden under the plain black Zorro-esque mask. It’s been a while since he played the playboy, but he could use a break tonight. “And hold this.” He hands Anna his flute and says, “I’ll be right back,” before she can work up too much of a protest.

The music from the string quartet on the bandstand swells in a way that feels appropriate as he walks toward the man. The thrum of the crowd noise abates as they part for him. Dick Roman calls out to him and Cas ignores him, single-minded in his goal. He comes to a stop right before the man.

“Hello,” he says, and green eyes blink at him from behind the Zorro mask.

“Hey,” a deep voice responds. One corner of the man’s mouth ticks up, bemused.

“Castiel Novak.” Cas reaches out a hand for the man to shake. He takes it. His grip is strong and his palms are calloused. Cas would bet he’s the only man in this room with callouses on his hands. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

It’s always a risky bet, coming up to another man in a crowd like this, interest apparent. Cas watches the man lick his lips, and he knows the risk is going to be rewarded.

“No, we haven’t,” he says, but doesn’t offer his name. A smart move, Cas thinks, because now he’s dying to know it.

“Do you dance?” he asks, holding Zorro’s hand a beat too long.

“I do.”

Cas gestures with one hand toward the dance floor, bowing his head slightly as Zorro grins and walks out ahead of him. The string quartet, which has mostly played covers of pop songs all night, segues smoothly into Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” as they take their place in the center of the floor.

“When I said I can dance,” Zorro says, cheek pressed to Cas’s and mouth hot against his ear, “I meant I can kind of turn in circles. But—” He laughs as Cas attempts to spin him out, completely offbeat. “I do love this song.”

It’s not the best for dancing, but Cas tries to lead them in time with the bass beats from the cello as the violins swell to mark the chorus. Despite claiming he can’t do more than turn in circles, Zorro gamely keeps up. He’s quick on his feet, matching Cas step for step, cheeks heating with embarrassment and laughter whenever he steps on Cas’s toes. Cas could skip out on this party altogether, just to watch this man laugh.

“Kashmir” turns into a cover of “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” and Cas asks, “Care for one more?” simply to drag this moment out. Zorro settles his hand slightly lower on Cas’s hip and says, “I could swing that.”

This tune is more familiar to Cas, and soon they settle into an easy rhythm, swaying together too closely to be quite decent. Zorro doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” he says over the music, “I was getting real sick of that top 40 crap, but this isn’t half bad.”

“I should certainly hope so.” Cas is loathe to be more than a few inches away from this man, but he pushes him out in a short, tight spin. “I’m sure we paid enough for them.”

Zorro’s smile falters. “Yeah, you probably did.”

He looks somewhere over Cas’s shoulder as Cas asks, “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just—” Zorro laughs, but it doesn’t sound like it did before. “Don’t you think this is all kind of a contradiction?” Cas’s brow furrows in confusion, and Zorro tilts his head toward the side, as if to point out the rest of the room. “I mean, come on. A masquerade ball for the rich and famous? For what, so they can pretend to be humble and anonymous about their vast contributions to charities they don’t even know exist, all while they simultaneously slap their names on every Shurley Foundation donor list in town? You all live to be seen. The masks aren't fooling anyone.”

Cas missteps as Zorro finishes his rant, catching the edge of Zorro’s dress shoes — which, now that he looks down, he can see are scuffed at the edges. “You do realize,” he says, looking back up into Zorro’s inscrutable eyes, “that I am technically a Shurley?”

“Yeah,” Zorro says, “but you’re hot, so I figured one dance wouldn’t hurt.”

“Two dances.”

“Right. Two dances.” Zorro shakes his head. Without faltering in his rhythm, he seamlessly begins to lead Cas instead of the other way around. It catches Cas off guard, even more so than he already is. And there’s nothing he hates more than feeling caught off guard.

“Well if you’re so above all this, why are you here?” he asks, miffed. Now he’s taken note of Zorro’s suit, and it’s cheap and ill-fitting. The Zorro mask probably is a literal Zorro mask from an old Halloween costume. “Come to think of it, how did you get on the list? It’s a $1,500 ticket.”

Zorro’s eyes narrow behind the mask, and as they complete their next turn, he lifts his hand from Cas’s hip and pushes him out for a spin. In the midst of the maneuver, Cas feels his hand slip out of Zorro’s grip. When he turns around, Zorro’s back is retreating into the crowd at the edge of the dance floor.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. It’s not like him to let someone get under his skin so easily. In the past, he’d brush off the encounter and keep his dignity and pride intact, but now— Well, now he’s fully aware he’s being an ass. Cas starts to push through the crowd after Zorro when he feels someone grab his elbow and yank.

If they weren’t in a room full of people, Cas would be tempted to take Anna’s momentum and use it to throw her over his shoulder, but since they’re supposed to be dignified, he allows her to pull him away from his chase and toward the bar in the back of the room.

“What now?” he asks, voice low and irritated.

“Sorry to stop you from striking out again, but we have a problem.” Anna’s matching his annoyance step for step, digging her nails into his bespoke Italian suit jacket. Cas opens his mouth to protest, but Anna presses on. “No, it’s not a Shurley Enterprises problem, it’s—” She glances around and lowers her voice, leaning in to speak by his ear. “We’ve had a security breach of the Heaven System.”

Cas pulls away to gape at her, and Anna shrugs, removing her hand from his arm to self-consciously tuck her hair back behind her ear. “I thought you said that system was more secure than Purgatory Asylum.”

“It is,” she hisses. “Which is why I’m so fucking concerned, and why I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes!”

Around them, the lights in the room begin to dim. They watch as the walls at the opposite end of the room separate and roll back to reveal a massive television screen. “Let’s wait to talk until after the recognition ceremony, okay?” Cas says, already pulling away from Anna. “I can’t go anywhere until after we’ve thanked everyone for their donations.”

“Cas, this is more important than—”

Before Anna can finish her protest, a rumble of unease breaks across the crowd. Cas turns to the video screen. Instead of his own smiling face, he sees an unfamiliar logo — a deep red circle with a single, stylized flame in the center, set on a black backdrop. “What the hell,” Cas mutters, and then a face completely covered by a red metal hood fills the screen.

“Hello, VIPs of Purgatory,” a disembodied voice says over the room’s loudspeakers. On screen, the red-masked figure tilts its head. The yellow eyes of the hood are unblinking. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed your $1,500 steak and lobster and all the complimentary, self-congratulatory circle-jerking provided by our generous hosts, the Shurley family.”

“Cas,” Anna says, uneasy. The whispers around the room are building toward a terrified crescendo.

“How does it feel,” the Red Mask continues, “to get away with extortion, tax evasion, assault and murder, and then to be seen as generous and benevolent? How does it feel to have all the money in the world, in a world that treats money like it equals morality?” The Red Mask leans closer to the camera, filling up the screen. “I bet you all feel safe.”

Cas looks around the room. His guests are huddling together, shaken. His sister’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, face grim.

“The system protects you because you pay it to, and Lady Justice looks the other way, blind. But despite the mask, I see everything.” The room is in a roar now, but the video plays louder. “I say you’re nothing but a bunch of criminals, extorting the poor for your own gain. Enough is enough.”

People are looking frantically around the room, looking for him. Cas can’t take his eyes off Red Mask.

“Your city already has a vigilante. Halo.” The mechanical voice manages to sound dismissive, and Cas’s fists clench at his side. “He has protected you, too — protected you by doing his best to stay within the confines of a certain world order; by leaving you alone while he goes after those he deems more dangerous to order and society. But I don’t discriminate. I’m here to take you all down, and I won’t let even Halo stop me.”

“Cas,” Anna says again, and he says, “Wait.”

“So I have a message for Halo, who I suspect is in this very room.” The crowd titters. “I’m going to be taking down a convoy of Roman Inc. vehicles tonight. You can try to stop me, or you can join me — either way, I’ll see you there. To everyone else — enjoy the rest of your night. Your lives won’t be so easy from here on out.”

The screen flickers, then goes black. The crowd is in a roar. Cas turns to Anna, taking her elbow and pulling her close to say, “Go prepare my suit, okay? I’ll meet you at Headquarters in five minutes.” She nods, already pulling away and dashing out one of the back doors.

Cas pushes his way through the revelers, who aren’t as yielding as they were before. They grasp at his suit jacket, greedy and so sure they are each important enough for him to pause and individually reassure. He wants to get away from them. He manages to break through the crowd and haul himself up onto the stage with the shocked, silent string quartet. He takes the microphone away from the cellist and says, “Everyone, please!” The roar does not abate. “I’m afraid the party is over! Please leave the ballroom in an orderly fashion and return to your homes!” They are yelling questions at him, but he ignores them. “For your safety, we need you to exit the manor now!”

He leaves the microphone lying on the floor and jumps off the back end of the stage, exiting through the door just behind it. He hears the protests ring out, hears them call him a coward, and Cas laughs to himself. He can’t stand them, and here he goes to protect them. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Anna.

“Security is escorting everyone out,” she says briskly. “I ordered them to keep people out of the back stairwell. I assume that’s how you escaped the masses?”

“Yeah.” He pounds down the stairs, leaping over multiple steps at a time.

“Good. I’m already there. Wings are ready.” She pauses. “Cas, I’m sorry. I know you were hoping for a break tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, forcing a smile for no one as he reaches the bottom of the stairwell and presses his hand to the keypad next to the basement door. “Halo doesn’t take time off.”


	2. Spandex, Latex or Leather

Anna is already waiting for him in Headquarters. Her elegant evening gown is gone, replaced by a pantsuit, and her swept back curls have been shoved into a messy bun on top of her head. She looks much more comfortable. She takes one look at his tux and _tsks,_ grabbing the cloth of his suit jacket and helping him to pull it off.

“It’s all rumpled,” she admonishes, and he quips, “Maybe I got lucky in the five minutes since we last saw each other.” Anna glares at him and he turns away sheepishly, spotting Balthazar lounging next to the row of monitors. 

“I thought you really did get lucky,” Cas says. His brother shrugs, sliding off the long desk and slinking toward them like a cat stalking its prey. He’s pissed.

“I was about to,” Balthazar says, voice congenial but eyes blazing, “but then my lovely, soon-to-be menage a trois was rudely interrupted by your newest enemy.”

“Balthazar…” Cas can’t keep apologizing for trying his best to keep the city safe, and the last time they had this particular fight he’d called Balth a hanger-on and accused him of sticking around just to snatch up the women and the money that flocked to Cas. They hadn’t spoken for nearly three months after the fight, so now Cas keeps his mouth shut.

“Yes, you have a _duty,_ we know,” Balthazar snips, holding out a hand to take Cas’s jacket from Anna. She’s doing her best to ignore them both, shoving Cas’s uniform into his arms and fiddling with the settings on his wing suit. “Here.” Balthazar hands over Cas’s watch, a nifty gadget Anna made when they were teenagers that acts as a GPS, health monitor, and remote control for the wingsuit.

Cas strips out of his suit, leaving only his underwear on before he slips into Halo’s uniform — a tight, latex/spandex blend in luminescent white, designed to change to reflect surfaces around it for better camouflage when needed. Anna helps strap the wings on behind his back, nudging them into place. Balthazar watches with a tight frown on his face. Anna glances at him from over Cas’s shoulder and sighs.

“If you have something to say Balthazar, then say it.” She’s never been great at being tactful with Balth.

“Alright.” Balthazar crosses his arms over his chest. “If this is a big enough deal to ruin our party, which clearly it is, then why haven’t you called the rugrats in?”

Anna stops messing with the wingsuit. Cas does his level best to keep his voice even as he says, “I can handle this on my own.” Balthazar scoffs, and he feels his temper rise. “If you think I can’t, then why don’t you come with me? Like old times.”

Balthazar scoffs again, more violently this time, and turns on his heel to walk out. Over his shoulder he calls, “Old times fucking sucked, Cassie. You of all people know that.”

He tenses, ready to go after Balthazar and demand an apology, but Anna stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. “Don’t. He’s been in a real mode lately. It’s not worth the fight.”

Cas looks down at her. She attempts a tight smile, and he tries to give her one in return, patting her hand with his. “Sorry. I won’t say anything. I don’t want to put you in the middle again.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She steps back to admire her work, hazel eyes scrutinizing every movement as he stretches the wings out and brings them back in to fold against his back. “Neural sensors look good. Feel good?”

He flexes the wings again. Against her protests, he’d attached the neurological sensors for the wings directly to his brain stem six years ago. They haven’t experienced any issues so far, but Anna still checks them every time he goes out. “They feel good.”

“Good.” She puts her hands on her hips, pleased with her work. “Okay, you better get going. Bike’s ready.”

Headquarters is split into four sections — the monitors where Anna does her work, keeping him safe as she can from behind a row of computers; the uniform and gear area, lined with showcase closets filled with various suits for various missions; the training arena, an elevated boxing ring and weight lifting stations; and the garage. He’s already jogging over to the garage. There are three bikes there, gleaming white and lined up in a row right next to the armored car and the helicopter. The garage door is already opening, revealing the tunnel that leads out from the basement of the manor to the far edge of the grounds. 

Anna’s caught up to him by the time he slings his leg over the bike, handing him his helmet, especially made to fit over his white eye mask. “Cas,” she says quietly as he puts it on, “why is he going after Roman?”

“Arms deals would be my guess.” Cas secures the helmet tighter.

“You knew?” She doesn’t sound accusatory, just disappointed.

“Anna.” They don’t have time to argue about this. “I had an idea, but no proof yet. I was planning to—” Her lips twist into a frown. “It doesn’t matter.”

“This one might not be a villain,” she cautions as he starts to rev the engine. “If you’re both targeting Roman—”

“Not a villain?” He laughs. “Yeah, right.”

///

The city of Purgatory sits high on a cliff, precariously overhanging the Atlantic Ocean. It’s cold and often wet, and the smell of saltwater hangs in the air year round, coating every building and surface in a dewy grime that only comes from close proximity to the sea. It’s no resort town. Cas’s father used to say Purgatory was built in the Industrial Revolution and it’s stayed in the Industrial Revolution — environmental safety regulations aren’t really enforced here, and thus the salt air combines with the smog to produce a smell known colloquially as “Purgatory Putrid.” The warehouse district lines the outer edges of the city, closer to the cliffs and the steep road leading to the port, and that’s where Cas goes, dodging potholes with an ease borne of much practice. 

It’s not a pretty town, but it’s his hometown. And it’s under near constant threat.

The roads downtown and in the more affluent outer suburbs, closer to Shurley Manor, are a grid system and thus almost impossible to get lost on. The warehouse district follows no such pattern. The roads wind in and out of factory buildings and rail yards, either dead-ending on private property or winding their way all the way down the Cliff Road to the ocean. Cas knows the way, though. When the police call comes in over his long-range scanner, Cas is almost at Roman Inc. He can see the massive complex in the distance, a slightly darker blot of black against the night sky, lit only by the red sign announcing its name. Roman would have called his men as soon as he heard Red Mask’s threat, but he was likely too late to stop an operation already in progress. 

Indeed, Cas finds the convoy before the police do. They’re about five miles from the company headquarters — three armored trucks at a standstill in the middle of an otherwise empty intersection. The tires have been blown out, one truck has rammed into the back of another. As he gets closer Cas sees Roman’s men sitting in the bed of one of the trucks. They aren't just lounging around — they’re zip-tied together. Any cargo the trucks were carrying is long gone.

He slides to a stop, smoothly dismounting and leaving the bike running as he approaches the scene. A quick scan reveals Roman himself hasn’t deigned to show up, nor has he sent his goons to rescue their fellow employees. Leaving them to the police, then — the police and him. 

One of the tied-up men scowls at him as he walks up, hissing, “Halo.” Cas lets his Grace, the source of his power, flare bright blue behind his eyes and spark blue static from his fingertips. It distorts the very air around him, and when he speaks, his normal voice is concealed by its high-pitched squeal.

“What happened here?”

The scowler is silent, but one of the other men, younger and shaking in his ties, says, “We were ambushed.” Scowler tries to elbow him, but the zip-ties prevent him from putting much weight into it. The kid keeps talking. “Tear gas, smoke bombs, the whole nine yards.” 

“By who?”

“I don’t know. I’ve ever seen anything like them before. They didn’t have Grace.” Even the criminals know about Grace, the power that flows through certain special people. “But they sure had something else. Some of the guys tried to shoot at them, but it’s like the bullets couldn’t even touch them.”

It sounds too familiar. “Demons?”

This gets the attention of the other men in the truck. They share uneasy glances, and even Scowler seems unsettled. “Maybe,” one of the others, a much older man with a thick gray beard, says quietly. “But I grappled with the Demons back in the day. They didn’t hide their faces. Didn’t need to. These guys did.”

“Hid their faces with what?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“Hoods,” the youngest one supplies. “Full-face metal hoods.”

“How many?”

The men glance at each other again, and the older one says, “I only counted three.”

There are six men tied in the back of the truck. Two-on-one, and this gang took them out easily. Cas looks over the scene, tries to picture the fight — Roman’s men, disorientated from the smoke and gas and the crash between their trucks, shooting wildly in the dark. Back in the day, he, Anna and Balthazar took on fights with greater odds, but they were well-trained, well-equipped, and bursting with Grace. He thinks of the Red Mask’s mocking message and wonders if the number three is supposed to be significant — three people in Red Mask’s gang, three members of what was once known as the Trinity. Halo’s Angels, the team-up to beat all team-ups. Cas scowls. Maybe he’s being mocked.

He doesn’t let his discomfort show. “What was your cargo? What did they take from you?” 

Scowler decides to speak up again. “Don’t either of you say one more word!” And Cas has had it. All he has to do is extend his hand, Grace blazing like lightning at the edge of his fingertips, and the young one shouts, “Weapons! We were carrying bombs and artillery!”

Cas lets the Grace fade, drawing it back up into himself. “That’s all I needed to know.” Then he turns on his heel and heads back for his bike. The cops will clean up this mess.

///

When she needs him, Police Commissioner Jody Mills sends a signal into the sky. Tonight it flares high above downtown Purgatory, a ring of light in the dark and the mist. A halo. 

She’s waiting for him atop the police headquarters, hands in her pockets as she looks out over the city. He glides in on his wings, landing lightly behind her. Mills doesn’t turn around as she says, “I believe we have a problem.”

She doesn’t call for him often. Her predecessor, a man named Frank Devereaux, designed the Halo Signal to summon Cas’s father, the original Halo. Devereaux was a cantankerous bastard with a stick-it-to-the-man attitude that never faded, even as he rose through the ranks. As long as he felt he was ultimately in charge, he supported vigilantism — “Less paperwork for me,” he’d always say. When Devereaux retired around the same time Cas’s father quit, Mills made it clear she didn’t intend to utilize another Halo. She’s come around, but Cas knows she still prefers to arrest the criminals of her city through the legal system and use him only as a last resort. Any time Mills shines the signal, Purgatory is in trouble.

“You’ve heard about our masked man,” he says, stepping closer. Mills doesn’t look back at him.

“He sent me a message,” she says. “He said we weren’t doing our jobs, and now he’s here to do it for us. He made it clear that his stance is more violent than yours.” When she turns to him, her eyes are hard. “One group of vigilantes is more than enough, Halo. I can’t have this city fall completely into chaos.”

“He’s not mine.”

“I know. So what are you going to do about him?”

“Track him down. Find out what he’s after. Stop him before he kills someone.”

She nods, lips pressed together, considering. “He didn't kill Roman’s men tonight.”

“No,” Cas admits, “but he didn’t need to. They’re not his true targets. He’s after bigger fish.” He thinks of the message the masked man played for the crowd tonight. It was not a crowd of low-level thugs or even middling enforcers. He meant for his message to be seen by the wealthiest of the wealthy — the people in charge.

“Like Dick Roman himself.” Mills holds his gaze steadily, appraising. “Why haven’t you moved against Roman?”

Unlike with Anna, Cas can’t walk away from Mills. “I’d heard whispers that he was involved in underground arms dealing, but I had no proof until his guard told me tonight. I may operate outside of police procedure, but I don’t want to attack a man unprovoked. The last Halo was the type to rush in without planning, and I saw where it got him.”

A silence follows. Mills may not know much about Cas’s father, but she doesn’t need to. Devereaux filled her in on enough, including the first Halo’s abrupt disappearance.

Mills sighs. “Maybe we both should have been more proactive. Now that the weapons are gone, we have nothing against Roman. Getting a warrant to search his company based on hearsay could take weeks, if it happens at all.”

“Are you asking me to break into Roman Inc.?” He’d been planning to do so anyway, but he wants Mills to say it.

She doesn’t take the bait. “I’m asking you to do your job and let me do mine. And since you’re the self-proclaimed leader of Purgatory’s vigilantes, I’m asking you to find Hellfire.”

Cas’s brows wrinkles beneath his mask. “Hellfire?”

“Your Red Hood or Red Mask or whatever. In his message to me, he called himself Hellfire. He said he’d rain brimstone down on Purgatory, and he just stole enough weapons to make that a very realistic goal.” For once, Mills’ careful mask of indifference slips. Whatever her feelings on him, they both care about their home. “We can’t let that happen.”

“We won’t,” he reassures her. And, because a mark of his brand is dramatic exits, Cas takes a running leap off the side of the building, letting his wingsuit spread to catch his fall.


	3. Going for the Big Scoop

Cas wakes around noon the next morning, aching and tired. After meeting with Mills, he took down a gang of assholes terrorizing a young woman in an alley downtown, then stopped a residential robbery in progress on his way back to Shurley Manor. He didn’t collapse into bed until well after five a.m.

He’d keep sleeping if it weren’t for the insistent knocking on his bedroom door. Cas shoves a pillow over his ears and wriggles further under his Icelandic Eiderdown comforter. It’s so thick he can almost imagine he’s hidden in some ice cave, far from the salt-stained streets of Purgatory and his housekeeper’s gratingly loud voice.

“Castiel Shurley Novak.” Ellen Harvelle-Singer is the only person in his life who calls Cas by his full given name, ever. Even Anna stops at Castiel. “I’ve been knocking on that door for the past five minutes!” She gives a sharp tug to the edge of the comforter, and it slides down to reveal his shoulders.

“Ellen!” Cas protests. “I’m trying to sleep!”

“And I’m trying to tell you Claire is on the phone, and she won’t rest until she’s told you what’s what.”

Cas groans as he peels the pillow of his head, coming face to face with Ellen’s displeased frown. Her graying hair is pulled back into a loose bun, and her smile lines crinkle when she frowns. She probably has better things to do than stand there, shoving the manor’s solitary landline into his hands.

“Claire?” he asks warily. Ellen’s taken a seat on the chaise lounge by the balcony, riding out the storm.

“What the hell, Cas.” His niece’s voice is flat, which is much worse than when she’s yelling. Claire is perhaps the angriest person Cas has ever known — her childhood didn’t inspire much to be happy about — and she’s prone to bouts of random, but mostly harmless, rage. When she manages to keep her tone even and dead, that’s a sign of how angry she truly is. “I had to see on the news that there’s a new villain in Purgatory who infiltrated our security and attacked Roman Inc. You didn’t even think to call for backup last night?”

Cas rubs at the bridge of his nose and pushes himself up in bed. “Claire, I—”

“Did you at least tell Jack?”

“No, not yet.” This is the wrong answer.

“How many times,” Claire says, low and controlled, “do we have to tell you we can handle ourselves? Will you ever believe us? Will you ever trust us?”

“It’s not a matter of trust.” Cas has had backup before. He had the other Angels, the Trinity. He had Anna and Balthazar and— He had a team, and it did not end well. “It’s a matter of safety. I didn’t want to bring either of you into a dangerous, volatile situation before I had some idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“But it’s fine for you to walk into the same dangerous situation, despite the fact that you’re ancient and losing your touch?”

She means for the words to sting, to carve out and lay bare his deepest insecurities, and they do. Cas takes a controlled breath before saying, “You’re just not—”

“I swear to god, if you tell me I’m not ready one more time I will kick your ass.”

Claire hangs up, and the beeping noise of the ended call rings in his ears. Cas drops the phone on the bed. Ellen turns the television on, and Cas sees his home on the big screen, an anchor saying, “The Shurley Foundation released a statement this morning apologizing to its guests for last night’s interruption. Shurley Enterprises is currently testing its security measures.” One of the party’s guests, a woman Cas doesn’t recognize, is in the news studio to discuss how frightened Hellfire’s video made her. He tunes her out.

“When did we release a statement?” Cas asks Ellen, who’s flipping through his messages.

“Anna wrote one this morning. You’ve received calls from numerous guests or their representatives. We may have a lawsuit pending from Roman, though I doubt it will go anywhere.” She scowls. “I detest that man. At least now I’m presuming we don’t have to play nice with him anymore?” Ellen raises an eyebrow at Cas. He nods. “You’ll have to deal with that, but Anna and I have most of the rest handled. Except for this.”

Ellen holds out a piece of paper — Shurley stationary with their logo, a crest of arms, at the top. It’s just out of Cas’s reach, forcing him to get out of bed to take it from her.

“I thought it was strange,” she muses. “I didn’t take it down. He must have snuck into your study at one point and taken the paper. That’s where I found it, anyway.”

Written in a messy scrawl that covers half the page is a phone number, followed by “ ** _From the gentleman whose honor you insulted.”_ **Cas’s mouth gapes open. He’s trying to work out what he’s supposed to do with this number when a familiar voice fills the room.

“Hi Mick, thanks for having me.” Cas blinks, sure he can’t be seeing right. But he is — those green eyes are a dead giveaway, and so is that voice. For a moment, he stares dumbfounded and caught up in the strangest sense of deja vu. Zorro is on his television screen, sitting in the Channel 8 news studio with anchor Mick Davies, smiling brilliantly for the camera. Just like that, Cas has a face, an occupation and a name to put to the voice — Dean Smith, reporter, _Purgatory Piper._

“Fuck,” he says, and Ellen glares at him.

“So,” Mick says, British accent smooth and rather patronizing, “you were lucky enough to attend the biggest party of the year last night. Tell me, when did it all go so terribly wrong?”

“Well, Mick.” Dean’s smile falters for a moment. “I wouldn’t say I was lucky to attend in the first place. It was more research gathering than partying for me. And I believe what’s really wrong with the Shurley Foundation’s masquerade ball is that it shouldn’t exist to begin with.”

Mick laughs, as if this is all a complete joke. Cas drifts to sit back down on the edge of his bed, fists clenched. “That’s a bold claim from a newcomer to our city. The Shurley Foundation masquerade is the biggest charitable fundraiser of the year, every year.” Mick would know. He’s always in attendance, presumably to cover the event, but actually to drink too much expensive champagne. “How can that be a bad thing?”

“I don’t want anyone to misunderstand me.” Dean leans forward in his chair, one hand gesturing loosely as he talks. Cas finds himself leaning forward as well. “Donating money to charitable causes is an honorable thing. I guess my problem is with the hypocrisy of it all. I mean, do we need to have wine imported from France and steak imported from Brazil in a ridiculously oversized mansion while this city closes a third of its homeless shelters due to lack of funding and people starve in the streets? Purgatory has the greatest wealth distribution imbalance of any city in this country, and the Shurley Foundation puts it on perfect display every year. The Shurley family doesn’t even run their own charity — they outsourced their board decisions to an independent management firm almost a decade ago, and now they’re so uninvolved I’d bet they don’t even know where half the money donated to their foundation actually goes.”

“Alright.” Mick looks distinctly uncomfortable. He probably has a producer yelling in his ear. Cas sympathizes. He sees Ellen staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “Up next—“

“It pays the new board’s salaries, that’s where it goes,” Dean says. He looks directly into the camera. His eyes are really very green and intense. “The rich always find a way to get richer, including by lining their pockets with money meant for the poor. I can see why this Hellfire would call them out.”

“That’s all the time we have!” Mitch cries, and the camera swings from Dean to focus on the frazzled anchor. “Thank you, Dean Smith. Check out his new column on economics in the _Purgatory Piper,_ folks! Up next, the Purgatory Police Department is now DNA testing dog poop left in public parks — how to avoid those stinky fines.”

A commercial for face wash comes on. Cas stares blankly at the screen.

“Is he right?” Ellen asks quietly. “About the board?”

“I—” Shame curls low in Cas’s gut. He doesn’t know. He decided long ago to focus on saving this city the way he’d been trained to — with brute force. He and Anna threw themselves into Halo, and Balthazar threw himself into alcohol and drugs and women, and they did leave the charity in others’ hands. He always assumed it was taken care of, purely by virtue of the huge check the foundation receives at the ball every year. Foolish.

“I’ll call the board later,” he promises Ellen. “I’ll get everything sorted.”

“See to it you do.” She stands, wiping her hands on her jeans as if to rid herself of this mess, and kisses him on the forehead before leaving the room.

Cas waits for her footsteps to stop echoing down the hall before he picks up his personal cell and calls the number Dean left for him. While it rings, Cas paces.

“Hello?” Dean’s voice is softer, inquisitive. Cas can hear people yelling in the background. Channel 8 is in a panic after his rogue interview, most likely. “Hang on, let me—”

Cas doesn’t speak, listening to the ruffling noises of Dean walking somewhere, a heavy door slamming shut. There’s an echo around Dean, like he’s in some back stairwell at the news station, when he says, “Okay, sorry. You’ve reached Dean Smith.”

“You could have just told me your name the other night, you know,” Cas says. He’s not feeling charitable right now, even if the sound of Dean’s voice sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Instead of leaving a note I might not find and bashing my family’s charity live on television in front of all of Purgatory.”

“Cas,” Dean says, not sounding ashamed at all. “I didn’t expect to ever hear from you.”

“And how, pray tell, did I insult your honor?” Cas continues, on a roll. “You wanted to dance just as much as I did, despite the fact that you apparently loathe me and my money.”

“Calm down.” Dean has the nerve to laugh. “I mean, you did insult me by implying I shouldn’t even be at your precious ball because I’m _poor_.” He says the word with a put-on snotty accent. “But, like I said — you’re hot. Of course I wanted to dance with you. Everyone in that ballroom wanted to dance with Purgatory’s most eligible bachelor.”

Cas huffs. “You’ve now insulted me again,Mr. Smith, by implying all I am is a pretty face.”

“And a bunch of inherited money. Don’t forget that part: a pretty face and unearned billions.”

Cas is getting so heated he forgets only minutes ago he’d worried Dean was right about the Shurley Foundation board misappropriating funds. “Why the hell did you leave me your number?”

“To talk,” Dean says simply. “I’m willing to let you set the record straight, Mr. Novak.” Cas doesn’t miss the newfound formality. “Meet with me for an interview, and I’ll gladly listen to the Shurleys’ side of the story.”

Cas picks his pacing back up. His bedroom is large, and it offers plenty of room for pacing. “Why don’t you just read our statement like the rest of the press?”

“Because I want more.” Dean’s voice is low, bordering on seductive. “And deep down, I think maybe you’re the tiniest bit of a good person. Deep down, you’re worried I might be right about all of this. Or you’re just worried about your family’s image. I can work with either.”

_Damn him_ , Cas thinks. Aloud, he says, “Fine. Lunch at El Cobra?” He purposefully picks an upscale casual restaurant in downtown Purgatory where Dean hopefully won’t be offended by the menu prices.

“Make it dinner,” Dean says. “I already have a lunch meeting. Eight?”

Inwardly, Cas fumes. Tonight he wanted to work on a plan for a raid of Roman Inc. to be put into action tomorrow. This means he’ll have to rely on Claire and Jack to do the raid planning, and at least one of them hates him right now. Well, she can join the club.

“Fine,” he grits out again. “But before we meet, I need to know — what is your story going to be about?”

“Greed and wealth in Purgatory,” Dean says. “See ya tonight, Cas.”

And for the second time today, Cas is hung up on.

///

Claire’s sitting on top of the kitchen counter when Cas walks in that night, a roll of cookie dough halfway to her lips, long blonde hair in a disheveled bun, makeup dark around her eyes like war paint. She pauses when she sees Cas, rolling her eyes before stuffing the dough in her mouth. “Claire, get down from there,” Ellen tells her as she shuffles around the room preparing lunch and dessert, but she doesn’t mean it. Ellen never makes the kids do anything they don’t want to do. She’s become something of a grandmother-figure now her original kids, Anna and Balthazar and Cas, are grown.

Jack is there, too, but he’s sitting on a stool and doodling absent-mindedly in one of his notepads, blond hair sticking out in all directions like he hasn’t brushed it all day. When he looks up to see Cas he smiles, a large, wide grin that takes up half his face. So Cas is still at least one person’s favorite uncle.

“What’s for lunch?” Cas asks as he takes a seat at the bar between Claire and Jack, ignoring the way Claire angles her legs away from him.

“Nothing if y’all don’t get out of my kitchen.” Ellen whips a towel in his direction when he reaches for the dough bowl. “Stay outta that!”

Cas is a middle-aged man and he knows it’s not cute for him to pout, but he says, “Claire got some!”

“She’s my favorite.” Claire sticks her tongue out at him. “Now get out! Anna’s waiting for y’all in the dining room.”

Because this mansion was built by rich people who valued luxury over efficiency, the kitchen and the main dining room are quite far apart, connected by the long, thin, snaking hallways that make up the old servants’ corridors. Cas and the kids head instead for the former help’s dining room, which is right next to the kitchen and much less ostentatious. Anna is indeed already there, laptop on the table in front of her and glasses perched low on her nose.

“Is Balth coming?” she asks without looking up, and Cas says, “No.” Balthazar left again this morning, and who knows where he’s gone. He doesn’t care about the vigilante business anymore, preferring to spend his time with models in Europe. Cas almost wishes Claire and Jack would adopt Balth’s life philosophy sans substance abuse. Better than getting themselves killed following in Cas’s footsteps.

“Anna, tell Cas he can’t keep leaving Jack and I out of missions,” Claire says as she flops down into the seat next to Anna.

“Stop leaving them out of missions,” Anna says robotically, still not looking up from her computer.

Cas sighs. “Jack, are you also angry with me?”

“Well.” Jack blushes. He’s a people-pleaser through and through, and with Claire glaring at him from one side of the table and Cas staring at him from the other, he doesn’t know what to say to make everyone happy. “I— I wish you’d told us so we could scope out this Hellfire guy with you, but I know you’re trying to protect us.”

Claire groans. “Jaaack. He promised!”

Jack says sheepishly, “You did promise.”

“We’re both old enough,” Claire points out, taking the lead as always. “I’m twenty; Jack is twenty-one! You said when we were adults you’d let us help you. We’ve been training and training and training, but you’re still holding us back from the real missions!”

Cas looks to Anna for help, but she’s caught up in her own world. He rubs his hands over his face, exasperated. “Well, you’re going to get your wish, Claire, because I have a mission for you both.”

It’s amazing how quickly Claire’s signature scowl morphs into a delighted smirk when she gets what she wants. “What is it?”

Cas gestures to Anna, who swivels her laptop around to face the others. On the screen are security blueprints for Roman Inc., complete with labeled guard checkpoints and alarm sensors.

“Now that we have solid intel on Roman’s arms dealing, I think it’s about time we snuck into the company headquarters. We’ll need to be quick about it — he’s likely already shredded any paper trails, and Anna can handle recovering electronic records, but what I need now are photos of any weapons still in the company warehouse. We’ve been monitoring the building and haven’t seen any shipments leave since Hellfire’s attack, but Dick won’t wait long to offload his goods in case Mills does manage to procure a search warrant. The main mission is gaining physical proof of the weapons themselves, but if you see shipment information — where they’re going and in what quantities — inside the warehouse, we need that as well. We can decide our next steps from there. I want to break in tomorrow night.”

Claire and Jack open the folders Anna gives them, pouring over paper copies of the blueprints as Anna starts to point out weak points in the company’s security system. “We’ll be able to get remote access through this service door. Cas and I have already discussed guard rotations and agreed it would be best not to enter the warehouse itself directly. Instead, once you’re in the building, you’ll gain access to the a/c vents via this storeroom.”

Jack looks up from the plans. “Are you coming with us?” he asks Cas.

“Yes,” he says, “but the rest of the planning is up to you two, with Anna’s help. I’m going to be a bit preoccupied tonight.”

Claire raises an eyebrow. “Preoccupied with what?”

He thinks of Dean Smith’s face on his television, intense and self-righteous, and his smile beneath his mask at the ball, dazzling and mesmerizing. “A public relations issue. Take your plans and go back to the kitchen to bug Ellen. Anna and I need to talk about the company’s press policy.”

Jack and Claire groan in unison. Nothing bores them more than Shurley Enterprises business, which he’s counting on. They scoop up their things and rush out the door, chattering excitedly.

“Public relations?” Anna asks, looking down at Cas over her glasses.

“A persistent _Purgatory Piper_ reporter.”

She rolls her eyes, a gesture which now reminds him of Claire, though Anna used to roll her eyes at him often when they were children.

“An attractive _Purgatory Piper_ reporter who happened to also be at the ball is more like it.”

“Fine,” he admits, “but he’s ruined any interest I have in him now.” A blatant lie. “Look, Anna, can you gather all the information you can about Dean Smith? I need to know who I’m dealing with.”

She purses her lips. “Use your powers for good, Castiel.”

“I do,” he protests. “I’ll admit he’s gotten under my skin, but I’m willing to hear him out, I swear. I just need more information.”

“Fine,” she echoes his own sentiment, “but I’m doing this to protect the family and to ensure the charity’s integrity, not because you’re pulling your crush’s pigtails.”

“He’s not—”

“Whatever. It’s just not like you to work yourself up over someone, that’s all. Be careful.” Anna closes her laptop and leans forward, elbows on the table as if this has all been child’s play and it’s time to get down to business. “Listen, I’ve been working on tracing our hack from the other night and so far I’ve found nothing.”

She sounds frustrated, and Cas understands why. Anna is the most technologically savvy person he knows. From the time they were children she preferred to tinker with gadgets and gizmos rather than to box in the ring with him and Balthazar. Though she was once an adept fighter, with Grace nearly strong enough to match his own, she gave up her mantle as Goddess years ago to focus behind the scenes. Since she’s been running Headquarters, Halo’s crime reduction rate has jumped by an incredible forty percent, a fact Anna likes to remind him of. She’s the best of the best, and no one gets the better of her. Until now.

“It’s probably just a malware you haven’t encountered before. You'll figure it out.”

“You don’t understand.” Anna shakes her head. “It’s not the malware. Someone is on the other side, actively working against me, switching code faster than I can keep up. Whoever did this, they’re damn good.”

Anna’s eyes narrow as she says, “I think they’re better than me.”


	4. Rich Idiot With No Day Job

Cas takes the Range Rover to dinner because he’s aware it’s by far the least pretentious car he owns and he doesn’t want Dean to judge him. He shouldn’t care what some self-righteous reporter thinks of him, especially some self-righteous reporter who has no idea Cas gets beat to hell every night in defense of Purgatory, but, well — here he is. He also wore his most casual suit and purposefully didn’t brush his hair, not because it looks better that way but because he wants to affect an air of carelessness. Cas eyes his reflection in the rear view mirror. He does look good, though.

Anna dropped a file on his desk in Headquarters earlier this morning with a terse, “Here’s your info, stalker.” Dean Smith is a reporter, though his portfolio only goes back five years — he’s a graduate from a university in England Cas has never heard of, though he had no accent to speak of; and he’s been freelancing for all of his career. There aren’t many articles in the file, barely enough to live on Cas guesses. They all revolve around wealth disparity and corporate malfeasance.

Anna had reassured him that Shurley Enterprises is clean — “Halo and the Angels are paid for by our trust funds and salaries. You seriously never wondered where the money came from? Maybe you’ve taken too many punches to the head…” — and Cas is planning to ensure the Shurley Foundation is as well. Maybe once he fires the board Dean Smith will leave him alone. He’s not sure if that thought makes him happy.

When Cas pulls up to the valet stand at El Cobra Dean’s already waiting, wearing the same suit from the ball and shaded from Purgatory’s perpetual rain by the restaurant’s blackawning. Cas drops a generous tip into the valet’s hand and jogs to greet Dean.

“Nice car,” Dean says blandly, watching the Range Rover drive away. “Would have pegged you for a Ferrari man.”

Cas does have a Ferrari (two, in fact), but he doesn’t mention this to Dean. “Let’s go inside. The steak here is excellent, and I’m starved.”

“Doubt it,” Dean jabs, but he follows Cas through the swinging doors.

Cas is nervous enough about this meeting, but Dean’s blatant unimpressed stare almost causes him to run into the hostess. She’s good at her job, ignoring his stumble in favor of a wide smile and a “Can I lead you to your table?” He makes sure they’re seated in a back corner, away from the windows and the door. El Cobra is a nice restaurant, but it’s not one where people with Shurley money would typically dine. He doesn’t want to be swarmed by citizen paparazzi. As soon as they’re seated, a waiter appears.

“Mr. Novak.” He’s beaming, ecstatic to snag a table with such high tip potential. “Welcome to El Cobra. My name is Gary, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I interest you in our wine collection?”

Cas waves the kid away. “No thank you, Gary. Give us a moment, please.” Dean is holding the menu open and frowning at it. “If you don’t like steak, the swordfish is delicious.”

Dean puts the menu down. “Just curious — is this place considered cheap by your standards?”

It is, in fact. This is the best place Cas knows in town to get plates for $50. “Well, it’s swordfish and not bluefin tuna,” he jokes. It falls flat. “Dean, this is the best place I could think of for a business meeting. Unless you’d rather get tacos from Mis Buenos Amigos.” Cas does love their tacos, but he was hoping (foolishly) to impress Dean with a good meal. That’s shot to hell.

“I do love tacos,” Dean says, picking his menu back up, “but I think poor Gary would have a heart attack if we walked out.”

“You’re right,” Cas mutters.

When Gary comes back, he puts in an order covering their wine, appetizers, entrees and desserts to avoid more interruptions. It doesn’t escape his notice Dean orders the cheapest option on the menu, a gourmet burger.

“So.” Dean folds his hands on top of the table. He doesn’t touch the wine. “If this is a business meeting, let’s get down to business.”

“Well, I know by your standards this is an interview.” Cas fiddles with the watch on his wrist to have something to do with his hands. He’s never been much for small talk or any type of conversation, really, and he never gives interviews. He wishes he could go back to the easy banter he and Dean had the night they met, before Hellfire and the morning news. “What do you want to ask me?”

“On the record?”

“On the record.”

Dean pulls a tape recorder out of his jacket pocket. “Okay. First off, what do you do?”

Cas swallows a swig of wine. “Pardon?”

“I meant it exactly how I asked it — what do you do? According to Shurley Enterprise’s website, you’re the company’s CEO and president. But you don’t attend half their board meetings, and there are a lot more photos of you sulking on yachts and sitting alone in the back booth at expensive clubs than there are of you doing anything remotely company related.”

Cas’s cheeks heat with anger. “I’m sorry, are you asking me a question or telling me what you think I do?”

Dean shrugs, mouth turned down in a cartoonish frown. “I don’t know. I guess I’m looking for clarification. ‘Cause see, to me it looks like you’re a rich idiot with no day job.”

Cas has a steady temperament. As a child, and even as a hormonal teenager, he kept his cool under pressure. He thought things through logically and strategically. It’s what made him his father’s most trusted weapon. It’s what earned him the position of Halo. “You’re more of a machine than I am,” Anna told him once, “and I think in code sometimes.” He’s become less detached over the years — watching people you love die tends to have that effect, if it doesn’t swing the opposite direction and make you far more subdued — and he thinks Claire and Jack wouldn’t even recognize teenage Cas. Yet he still manages to maintain calm, even when he's being shot at or punched or mocked by villains.

But somehow Dean Smith worms his way right under Cas’s skin and boils there, making his hair rise and his blood rush to the surface. Making him see red.

“You have no idea the sacrifices I have made for this city,” Cas snarls. “The money and time and effort spent in the hopes of making Purgatory better. It takes everything I give it and it swallows it all up and spits it out in my face. I am doing my best, and I’m sorry if my best isn’t enough to impress you.”

“Really?” Dean leans forward. “The Shurley Foundation is your best?” The foundation. _Of course_ , Cas thinks, _you’re an idiot. You can’t tell him you mean Halo._ “Because,” Dean continues, “I gotta tell you, Cas, the money you throw into it isn’t going where you think it’s going.”

“I’ve been made aware of that.” Cas holds Dean’s gaze. “I’m working on fixing the issue.”

Dean’s eyebrows lift and the corners of his mouth turn up, either vaguely impressed or disbelieving. “Are you?”

“Yes. I do care.” Cas doesn’t know why he bothers trying to explain himself to this man. It’s like he can’t help it. “I’ve directed the board to cut their salaries in half and reallocate that money to the charities it was supposed to go to in the first place.” He glances at the tape recorder. “I’m not saying this for the benefit of good PR, either. Put that in your article, don’t put it in — I don’t care. I don’t do what I do to get good press.” _But I do almost out myself as Halo to impress one member of the press…_

“Well then.” Dean finally takes a sip of his wine. “I’m glad to hear it. I would’ve hated to pivot to Shurley Enterprises as the focus of my next investigation. Especially since I’m really only in town to investigate Dick Roman.”

Cas’s mouth drops open slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I have a source inside the Shurley Foundation. Your memo to the foundation board has already leaked. I didn’t even need to meet with you today. I just wanted to see your pretty face again.” Dean smiles. It’s infuriating. “I still think your masquerade ball is ridiculous and you should spend more time personally overseeing your own charity. Do you have any comment on that?”

“No,” Cas snaps. “So, explain this to me, because I’m a ‘rich idiot with no day job.’ I was never your main target all.” He obnoxiously finger quotes Dean’s statement, and Dean chuckles, nodding. Cas’s temper flares. “You repeatedly insulted me, humiliated my company on live television, and dragged me here for this meeting just to piss me off because you think it’s what, _fun_?”

He hates he ever thought Dean Smith’s smile was beguiling. It’s the smile of a shark, teeth showing, poised for the kill. “I got you to cut the salaries of your foundation board just by ‘pissing you off,’ Cas. Imagine the good I could get you to do if I made you really, really angry.”

“I am really, really angry.” Gary chooses this moment to try to bring their food to the table, and Cas waves him away. He practically runs back to the kitchen. “You didn’t have to manipulate me into fixing the foundation. I would have done that on my own! All you needed to do was tell me the truth about who you are and what you wanted from the beginning.”

A dark look crosses over Dean’s face. It’s there and gone before Cas can process it, and Dean’s back to a studied nonchalance. “Most CEOs only respond to public humiliation and shaming, in my experience.”

“I’m not most CEOs.”

“Maybe,” Dean concedes, “or maybe not. But I am a journalist, and I have to bring the shit I dig up to the public. That’s my responsibility.”

“You didn’t even ask me for a statement before you came for my throat. Is that allowed under journalistic ethics?”

Dean sighs, balling his unused napkin up and throwing it on the table, as if to throw in the towel. “No. Look, I didn’t go on with Mick to bash you. His pitch to me made it sound like he wanted to talk about Hellfire’s message. But then he set me off with that comment about being ‘lucky to be there,’ like I’m a fucking pauper or something.” He glares at Cas. “Kinda reminded me of you. I saw an opening, and I took it. I’d meant to call you before I ran anything about the Shurley Foundation, but I ended up running my mouth off instead. I’m sorry.”

Balthazar would threaten to sue. Anna would type out a written statement in an email, a thinly veiled “fuck off.” But Dean was right about the foundation, and it doesn’t sit well with Cas that none of them noticed until he shoved the truth in their faces on the morning news. It’s not something he blames Dean for, if he’s honest. He blames himself.

“Apology accepted,” Cas says shortly, because he’s still upset with Dean for pushing his buttons. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration, and gestures to the tape recorder. “Is there anything in all of this you can even use?” 

Dean picks it up, a considering look on his face. “I can probably run the part about fixing the situation and the ‘I do care’ when I write about your changes to the board.”

“Good.” Cas throws a couple hundreds on the table. “This should cover the meal and the tip, should Gary work up the courage to come back. Is that all you needed, Mr. Smith?”

Dean stands up with him. “Hang on, Cas. I have another question.” He’s still holding the tape recorder. Cas nods. “You know Dick Roman. Do you know why Hellfire attacked his shipment the other night?”

Cas presses his lips together. “No. You’d have to ask Roman that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I can’t get him to talk to me.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Cas says, but his mind is on the raid. If he finds evidence of Roman’s arms shipments, should he have Anna leak it to Dean, have him do some of the dirty work? He puts on his coat, undecided.

"Okay, one more!" Dean says before Cas can walk away.

Cas rolls his eyes. "What?"

"Your father—"

"What about my father?" Cas snaps before Dean can finish, a knee-jerk defensive reaction. Dean blinks at him, suddenly wary.

"What happened to him? This isn't for the story. It's just curiosity." Cas stiffens. "I mean, he was an important public figure in Purgatory and one day he just... steps down from his company and never appears in public again? It's kind of weird. You have to realize that—" Dean's voice fades when he looks at Cas's face, which is distorted in a scowl.

“My father was an extremely private man. And so am I. Good night, Mr. Smith.” Cas turns on his heel and walks toward the door.

Dean shouts at his back, “Fine! Sleep tight, Mr. Novak!”

“Not fucking likely,” Cas growls under his breath.


	5. Reckless Sidekick(s)

Cas has been to Roman Inc. before, of course. Shurley Enterprises used to do business with Roman back in his father’s day. Chuck Shurley and Roman partnered on some mass-produced soy-based tofu product, if Cas remembers correctly. He hadn’t paid much attention to the business side of things when he was younger. The deal with Roman fell through for reasons he can’t recall. He wonders now if Chuck knew what kind of man he was dealing with. He wonders if that’s why the partnership ended.

The last time Cas entered this monolith of a building, the sun shone and the sky was clear. It’s storming now, and he can barely make out Roman Inc. against the dark smear of the night. They’re also bypassing the front gates this time, moving stealthily around the backside of the compound, close to the cliffs. Claire takes the lead and Cas allows it. He can’t stomach fighting with her anymore today. He follows right behind her, wingsuit tense in case she loses her footing and plummets from the cliff to the rocks below. Cas listens for Jack behind him, picking his way across the thin strip of ground between Roman’s electric fence and a fall to certain death.

“Alright,” Anna’s voice says in their ears. “I’m in. The service entrance will be unlocked once you reach it. Unfortunately the fence is an enclosed system, and there’s no way for me to shut off the voltage. Cas, are you ready to take one for the team?”

“Of course.” Cas grimaces as he surveys the fence. Ten feet tall with 10,000 volts and barbed wire curling at the top. This will hurt. “Claire, you first.”

Cas pulls his Grace to his fingertips as he braces against the fence, wincing at the initial shock until it fades into an almost pleasant buzzing. Grace is handy for dulling pain, though its scope is not infinite. He pushes his legs away from the fence in a push-up stance and tells Claire to hurry. She uses the back of one knee as her first stepping point, hands on his shoulders to climb up his back. Carefully balancing on his shoulders to keep away from the fence, she pulls the wire cutters from her utility belt and gets to work.

“Done.” Her toes dig into his clavicle as she tenses, then she’s vaulting over the fence in a graceful arc, rolling on the landing to mitigate the chances of a broken ankle.

Jack follows, Cas’s shoulders straining under his extra weight. He’s not as graceful as Claire, but he makes it over nonetheless.

“Your turn,” Jack whispers from the other side of the fence. Cas nods, letting go of the chain link and stepping back to the edge of the cliff. He could climb up, getting shocked every step of the way, or — He steps backward, off the edge of the cliff.

“Cas!” He hears Claire’s hiss before the wind rushing by his ears carries everything away. His wings spread as he hurtles toward the ocean, before catching an updraft and pulling him back, up and away from the swells below. Cas soars over the top of the cliff, riding the draft and his own momentum, and comes to rest lightly on the other side of the fence.

“Showoff,” Claire mumbles, and he smiles. She’s always wanted to try out the wings.

“Let’s go.”

The guard patrols are still moving around the side of the building, leaving the three of them safe to run across the back lot undetected, their normally white suits turning reflective and dark under the night sky. Cas keeps his wings tucked close to his back, knowing they’ll be far easier to spot if he spreads them. Tonight isn’t about intimidation — it’s about gathering information.

They slip in through the door and into a storage room, though it’s not the warehouse they’re looking for. Claire takes the lead again, sticking close to the shelves on the side wall and inching toward the door. They leave the dark of the storage room for a bright hallway. Cas glances at the camera mounted in the far corner.

“Don’t worry,” Anna says in his ear, as if sensing his thoughts. “I’ve got the cameras taken care of. Just get in and get out fast.”

They rush down the corridor into the belly of Roman Inc., following Claire as she traces the map Anna’s stolen blueprints laid out for them. Cas keeps an eye on his watch, counting down in his head to when the next patrol will be passing through this side of the building. They have time.

As they round a corner, his heart sinks. He thought too soon. There, at the other end of the hall, is a lone guard.

“He- Hey!” He stammers, voice pitching into a whine. “Who are you?” Cas almost rolls his eyes. As if he doesn’t know.

No one bothers to respond, but Claire barrels down the hallway toward the guard, Grace tinging the air with static, like lightning about to strike. The guard doesn’t know what hits him. One moment he’s turning on his heels, ready to run for backup, and the next he’s on the ground, pinned by an invisible force. Claire stands over him, eyes alight with blue.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she says, her voice distorted by the grace. The fluorescent lights above her spark and pop, flaring out. She leans down and places two fingers on the squirming guard’s forehead and he stills, passed out.

“Claire,” Jack protests. “We could have just tied him up somewhere!”

“Sure.” Claire rolls her eyes. Cas catches it even behind her mask. “And let him yell the whole way to the next closet.”

She looks at Cas for backup, and he sighs. “Come on. We’ll take him with us.” He kneels down, grabbing the guard by his shirt and throwing him over his shoulder. He sags for a moment under the added weight and the uncomfortable feeling of the wingsuit digging into his back where the guard is pressed against it, but his Grace makes him supernaturally strong. Cas straightens and gestures for the kids to start moving again. “We’ll put him in the storeroom when we get there.”

The storeroom isn’t far. It’s similar to the room they first entered, though on the opposite end of the building. Shelves full of boxes fill the room. Cas glances at the labels on a few of the boxes — SucroCorp. He knows the names of most of the various shell companies and hostile takeovers Roman’s acquired over the years. Shurley Enterprises has competed against him, quite successfully most of the time, to save small businesses Roman has set his sights on, and Cas remembers the few cases they’ve lost. He doesn’t know of any SucroCorp. It must be a new project. He lets his body camera linger on the name, hoping Anna will pick it up.

They put the guard in a corner of the room, taking the handcuffs from Cas’s utility belt and cuffing him to a heavy shelving unit. Claire puts packing tape over his mouth for good measure. Then they get to work unloading some of the boxes from the shelf directly under the air vent so they can use it as a ladder. Claire goes up first, easily squeezing her slim body through the vent opening. It’s a bit tighter for Jack, but he still manages to wiggle his way in.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to hear you in there,” Anna warns him. “Signal’s getting spotty, and I doubt I can reach you in the ducts. Be careful, okay?”

Cas says, “Okay. See you soon.” He listens to the soft thuds Jack and Claire make as they move through the vent and hopes the rooms between them and the main warehouse are empty. Then, with one last look at the guard sleeping in the corner, he clambers through after them.

Cas isn’t claustrophobic, but if he were, this would be a problem. The duct is large enough for them to belly crawl through, shoulders to feet, but not large enough to sit up in. He presses his wings tightly against his back, but the flight feathers still catch and drag on the bolts sticking out from the sides of the duct. There are no neural sensors in the feathers themselves, but he still feels them jerk as he struggles to get situated. He would have taken them off beforehand if he’d had anywhere to safely store them, but it’s too late now.

He follows Jack’s boots until they stop and Jack looks back over his shoulder. “Voices,” he whispers, and Cas nods. Underneath the whir of the air moving through the ducts he hears murmuring below. He lifts a hand and points downward, mouthing “Warehouse?” at Jack. Jack nods. They’ve arrived.

Moving slowly so as not to alert those beneath them, Cas, Claire and Jack begin to inch around the room until they find another vent. Claire manages to turn around with a stealth that impresses Cas, pivoting on her backbone near silently, feet never brushing the edges of the duct. With Claire facing them on the other side of the vent, Jack and Cas squeeze together on their side so all three of them can see down into the warehouse.

Like the storerooms, there are plenty of boxes inside the warehouse. Unlike the storerooms, Cas can see two armored trucks idling while Roman’s men load crates inside. A few boxes, also labeled SucroCorp, are stacked in the back of the trucks alongside the crate. Cas’s brow furrows. They need to get a closer look to determine what’s being loaded, but that's impossible without making themselves known. If they pick a fight with Roman’s men tonight that’s as good as publicly declaring Roman a target of Halo. It will only make Roman work harder and faster to remove all illegal elements from his building before Cas can get any evidence to Mills.

On the other hand, making a scene would send a clear message to Roman that Halo knows what he's been doing and put him on high alert for the future.

“I can see a ramp from here,” Claire whispers. “It looks like it leads into a tunnel of some sort. It’s probably connected to the sea cave system.” Her eyes meet Cas’s. “We need to either confront them or follow them. I don’t have a clear enough view to get photos from here.”

“I agree,” Cas says, and Claire and Jack’s heads jerk up in surprise. “I’ll wait until they’re done loading and follow the trucks into the tunnel.”

“What about us?” Jack asks.

“Go home. Help Anna look into the tunnel system.”

He’s not shocked by the furious glare Claire gives him — her default setting is outrage — but Jack’s is a bit of a surprise. His disposition is that of a sunflower — always bright and cheerful. The anger heating Jack’s cheeks and making his yellowed Grace flash in his eyes is new and unsettling.

“That’s unfair,” Jack whispers, his breath hot next to Cas’s face. Cas can’t cringe away in the tight space. “You gave this mission to us, and now you’re taking it away!” Claire nods in agreement.

“We don’t have time for—” Cas is interrupted by a spurt of gunfire below. The three immediately look down as shouts erupt from Roman’s men. They’re dodging behind the trucks and crates, swinging their own weapons toward the tunnel entrance, which Cas and Jack can’t see from their vantage point.

“Oh shit,” Claire says, eyes wide, and then a blast rocks the room. It shakes the duct, and Cas instinctively tries to flare his wings to cover the kids, but they’re trapped against the metal walls. When he opens his eyes, one is shoved over Jack, but Claire is uncovered — and thus unencumbered. She looks at Cas, and he sees what she’s planning to do before she does it. He reaches out to grab her but her hand is already on the vent, yanking it back and letting it fall with a clatter to the concrete below.

“Claire!” She shoves him back with a small blast of Grace and swings out through the opening and into the chaos below.

“Damn it!” She’s sprinting straight into the hail of bullets, holding up a hand to use her Grace like a force field. Cas taught her that move. He’s never given her the opportunity to use it before. “Jack, get out of here!” He knows it’s an order that won’t be obeyed, but he can’t stick around to watch Jack follow him into the fray. Cas drops into the warehouse and immediately sees who Roman’s men are firing at.

Hellfire is at the entrance to the tunnel, the yellow eyes in his red hood glowing unnaturally bright as he stands, unafraid of the bullets. They seem to bounce off the air around him, his arms spread wide, black jacket free of bullet holes.Cas spots the grenade in his hand only a moment before he throws it. “Divinity!” he screams Claire’s alter ego name, and she turns back to look at him as the grenade hits the floor next to her and goes off with a _bang_.

Cas has twice witnessed the death of someone he loved. The first time, he had little warning. He remembers screaming, his mouth falling open in a wordless wail, feeling like his lungs would burst but unable to stop his cries. His world ended in some ways that day. He never got his full heart back.

Years later, Claire came to him as an angry, bitter child. An orphan who looked at the uncle she’d never known and said, “Why didn't your dad pick my dad, too?” She was convinced her father, the twin Cas had never met, wouldn’t have died if only Chuck Shurley chose to adopt both the boys instead of only the one with Grace. When he looked at her eyes, blue and fierce like his, some of those cracks in Cas’s heart began to heal.

Now he feels the beginning of that mournful wail starting, mouth open and stomach dropping. He never knew his brother, but he made a promise to Jimmy in his broken heart that he would keep his little girl safe. And he let her run straight to her death.

A ringing sound fills his ears and he falls to his knees. Smoke swirls around him, and he wants to scream but this time nothing comes out. He always knew he couldn’t survive this again.

Claire bursts through the thick haze and for a moment, Cas is certain he’s died, too. It would be a relief at this point, he thinks, mind as hazy as the smoke. Then her hand latches around his arm, firm and insistent, and he wakes from his nightmare, jolted back to reality. He’s collapsed to the floor in the middle of a gunfight, and Claire is alive.

“Thank God,” he manages to say at the same time she says, “Just a smoke grenade,” but then a shape charges at them through the darkness and Claire lets go of Cas’s arm, swinging her leg out to strike.

It’s another red hood, but not Hellfire. This one is smaller, more compact. A woman, Cas realizes as she pivots away from Claire’s blow and swings for his head. He’s caught off guard and takes the full brunt of the blow, head snapping back as he stumbles into a crate. Claire steps between him and the masked woman. When his head stops spinning, Cas sees her hands flare with bright blue Grace.

“I’ve got this!” she shouts as she faces off with her opponent. “Find Nephilim!”

_Jack_. As much as he loathes to leave Claire, he at least has an idea of where she is in the now smoke-filled room. But Jack is gone, and someone is still shooting somewhere at the other end of the warehouse. Jack’s Grace carries much more brute force than Claire’s, but he also has more trouble harnessing it effectively. Cas doesn’t even know if he can make a shield with it. He again feels the panic of a father whose children are in danger gripping his throat. He takes off running.

He sprints toward the gunfire, leaping over boxes and discarded weapons and calling for Jack. “Nephilim!” Jack picked his hero name as a child and wouldn’t let it go even when Claire teased him for it. _“Half human, half angel,” he said. “Just like Uncle Cas.”_

Two of Roman’s thugs find him before he finds Jack. This time Cas is thinking clearly enough to easily deflect their bullets with his Grace, shoving them across the room with a mere thought. Dodging henchmen is second nature to Cas. His distraction earlier over Claire aside, usually in a fight he’s focused in a way his siblings used to call “scary” and Chuck called “committed.” He knows he’s getting older; knows he’s past his peak. But even when his bones ache at night, the reaction in the midst of the action still comes easily to him.

Until he gets knocked off his feet a second time. This time, there was no punch thrown. This time, the force is invisible. Like Grace. Or Corruption. Cas throws his hand up before the second wave can hit, blasting Grace in the direction of his unseen opponent. Hellfire materializes through the smoke, unfazed.

Cas leaps back up. As soon as he’s on his feet, Hellfire lunges at him. There’s a crackle of static around them, a premonition of power as Hellfire’s fist surges toward Cas’s face, and the fight slows down for Cas the way it always has. He reaches up with his hands to grab Hellfire’s fist. His intention is to use his opponent’s momentum to catch him off balance, duck and throw Hellfire head first over his shoulder. It’s a move that’s worked for Cas a thousand times. But Hellfire pulls his punch at the last second, blasting Cas with a surge of power from his other hand instead, putting him back on one foot and on the defensive.

Cas knows what Grace feels like — a surge of electricity jolting through your body. He remembers the Demons, their Corruption — it tasted of smoke and burned like Hell. Hellfire’s power feels oddly similar to both — there’s a sting and a burn, and Cas’s arm shudders where he took the brunt of the blow. He stares at Hellfire with new interest. _What are you?_ Cas wonders, but he has no time for curiosity as he dodges another blow.

Cas sweeps his wings back and lets them lift his feet off the ground, aiming both at Hellfire’s chest, straight at the fire emblem symbol on his black tactical vest. Hellfire ducks with inhuman speed, sliding underneath Cas. Cas barely has time to get his feet back under him when he feels a jerk on his wings from behind. He thrashes back with them, connects with some part of Hellfire, and his opponent lets go. He swirls around, aiming a high kick for Hellfire’s hooded head. But Hellfire grabs his leg and throws it back, nearly knocking Cas down again. In frustration, Cas throws a blast of Grace. It goes wide and hits nothing but an already downed henchman of Roman’s.

The fight can’t last more than a minute, but every move Cas makes, Hellfire is one step ahead of him. Every punch and kick is blocked, every blast of Grace met by an equally powerful shield of Hellfire’s unknown power. Cas feels his frustration building, and with it his fear — the guns have gone silent, and he doesn’t know where Jack and Claire are. He’s not one for retreat — he’s never needed to be, he can’t remember the last time an opponent got the upper hand — but even as the punches fly he’s looking for an escape route and a way to find the kids.

He hears Jack before he sees him. “Halo, look out!” and then another grenade is tossed between Cas and Hellfire. Hellfire takes a step back and is swallowed in smoke. Cas turns toward the sound of Jack’s voice. “Halo!”

“I’m here!” He runs through the smoke, his Grace protecting him from the worst of it. Jack and Claire are together, thank god, and other than a cut across Claire’s lip they appear unscathed.

“We gotta go,” Jack says, but his next words are swallowed by the sound of engines revving to life. Headlights pierce faintly through the fog in the room, and Cas can just barely make out the cab of the truck next to them. Hellfire is at the wheel. He lunges for the truck, but Jack catches his arm and pulls him back.

“What—”

“There’s a bomb!” Jack yells, pointing toward the tunnel entrance. “They must plan to detonate it behind them!”

A younger Cas would have gone after the enemy regardless, left his sidekicks to their own devices, risked death over a retreat. Chuck rewarded that kind of behavior, trained it into all his sidekicks. “Cool Castiel,” he’d say in a rare moment of praise. “My relentless one.”

This Cas has children, though, and they’re standing right next to him in a room with a bomb. “Let’s go!” He pushes Claire in the direction of the main door first, then Jack. “No point in hiding now, our cover is blown. We’ll fight our way out if we have to!”

“I know a quicker way,” Claire calls back through the smoke. He can just see the bob of her blond ponytail, the glow of Grace in her eyes when she looks back over her shoulder. “Follow me!”

They’re almost out the door when Jack trips over a box on the ground, crying out in pain. Cas turns back for him, and Jack waves him on. “I’m fine!” But it means Jack is a few steps behind them, still in the room when Hellfire’s bomb goes off.

Cas has twice witnessed the death of someone he loved. The second time, he knew it was coming.

Jack’s mother Kelly was ill for a long time before she passed. He sat with her in hospital rooms and chemotherapy halls for months on end, holding her hand while ten-year-old Jack slept in the chair next to her. “You’ll take care of him,” she’d said to Cas with complete faith, faith he didn’t deserve.

He hadn’t known Jack existed until she contacted him out of the blue less than a year before the cancer took her. He almost didn’t believe her when she told him the boy was Luke’s. His older brother had been disowned by Chuck Shurley long ago, and Cas couldn’t imagine him seeking out any type of human connection, especially with a woman as warm and kind as Kelly. Luke hated everyone and everything, yet he’d helped create the sweetest child Cas had ever known. From the moment he met Jack, Cas knew Kelly was right — this was Luke’s son, but the boy was nothing like him. He was his mother’s child in all the ways that mattered. And Cas loved him.

The blast rips Cas off his feet. His wings spread to arrest his fall, but they also take the brunt of the blow as rocks and scattered wood are flung from the blast site. When he looks back, he sees they’re singed and ragged, some feathers gone and others torn in half. He also sees Jack, lying half under the now collapsed doorway to the warehouse.

“Jack!” He uses the boy’s real name as he scrabbles to him on his hands and knees. He hears Claire gasp behind him; he can’t take the time to be glad she’s okay. He crawls to Jack, cradles his head in his hands. Jack’s eyes blink up at him, stunned and slow.

“Jack,” Cas says. “Hold on, okay?” He turns to Claire, takes her in — there’s a bruise swelling above her left eye, but otherwise she seems uninjured by the blast. He doesn’t need to say anything to her. She takes hold of the other end of the metal beam now pinning Jack, and together they lift it off him.

“I’ve got it,” Cas grunts, using his Grace to hold it up. “Pull him out!”

Claire drops to the ground and puts her hands under Jack’s armpits, dragging him from the rubble before Cas lets the beam fall to the floor with a _clang_. He kneels next to Jack, looking him over. The top half of his body is uninjured, and Cas almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then he sees Jack’s legs. They’re crushed and bent at odd angles, and with his Grace Cas can see down to the bone, to every splinter and break. He puts his hands on Jack, and Jack moans.

“Hang on,” Cas says. Claire’s eyes catch his, wild and desperate. She doesn’t know how to use healing Grace, and Cas isn’t much better. Grace healing takes a talent he doesn’t have and never has. But he has to try. He focuses on the bones, thinks of the ways they should fit together, forces his Grace to flow through his body and into Jack’s. It meets Jack’s there. Jack does have a knack for healing, at least when conscious, so Cas coaxes his Grace and it responds. Together, they knit the bones back as best they can. But with Jack passed out from the pain, his own Grace is weak. It’s not a full repair, but at least the breaks are cleaner.

Cas sways as he takes his hands away from Jack’s legs. His nose is bleeding, and he wipes at it. Claire is already working on making a stint out of rebar from the rubble and a torn bandana from her utility belt.

“We’ll have to carry him,” Cas warns her. “It will be far.”

“I know,” she says, not looking up from Jack’s broken body. “This is what we signed up for.”

_No,_ Cas thinks miserably as he searches for a flat surface to carry Jack away on, _this is what I dragged you into._


	6. Rogues' Gallery

There’s a self-contained hospital room in Headquarters, and Jack sleeps there. Cas stands in the doorway watching his nephew’s chest rise and fall. His face is smooth in sleep. Peaceful. The Shurley family doctor has been and gone, leaving an IV dripping drugs into Jack’s veins.

“His Grace will work to heal him when he wakes up,” Anna reassures Cas. He hadn’t known she was standing behind him. “It’s strong. He’ll make a full recovery. It will just take time.”

Cas knows she’s right. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Come on.” She touches his arm gently. “Ellen’s coming down to keep an eye on him, and Claire and Balthazar are waiting for your debriefing.”

“Balthazar is here?”

She nods. The worry lines around her eyes and mouth deepen. “He came as soon as he heard. Don’t pick a fight with him, okay? We need a united front right now.”

Cas is the declared leader of the Halo team, but Anna is the unspoken leader of the Shurley family. She has been since they were children, when their father stood before them and told them, “Playtime ends today. Now your training begins.” She’s the oldest child(if you don’t count Michael and Luke, and Chuck certainly never did after they were gone), and she worked out at an earlier age that her position in the family meant a lot of conflict management. Balthazar was too loud and abrasive; Cas too quiet and yielding. She tried to balance them out, to teach Balthazar to hold his tongue and to teach Cas to make his own decisions without waiting on Chuck to make them for him. Maybe she taught them too well. Balthazar barely deigns to speak to his siblings these days, and Cas decided sometime before he took up the mantle of Halo that he needed to make every decision (and every mistake) on his own, lest someone else get hurt because of him.

“Okay,” Anna says, clapping her hands together as Cas takes a seat. She’s still trying to hold them all together even now. Cas lets her try because he loves her. He wishes they could all get along, make her happy. “Cas, what happened in there after I lost you?”

Cas tries to give his report like Chuck used to — facts only, no emotions. But he’s not Chuck. He feels too much to be Chuck. When he gets to Claire’s act of disobedience, his veneer snaps.

“Claire deliberately disobeyed my orders and went into the warehouse alone.” He can hear the anger in his own voice, and he can’t control it. “We went after her.” Claire glares at him from across the conference table. “Roman’s men were shooting at Hellfire’s people; at least some of them were shooting back. We engaged because we had no choice at that point. Hellfire set off a bomb and escaped with Roman’s trucks. Jack was injured by a falling beam.” He stares at Claire, and he forgets how scared he was for her when the grenade went off, mind filled with how scared he is for Jack right now. “It all could have been avoided if Divinity had followed her orders.”

The use of her hero alter ego is what causes Claire to snap. She shoves her chair back, hands slapping against the table.

“Are you seriously saying it’s _my fault_?” She sneers at him. “If Hellfire set off a bomb with us in the ducts we’d all be dead, _Halo._ ”

“No,” Cas says, staying seated even though he wants to pace. “You and Jack would have been here with Anna like I told you to be!”

Claire rips her mask off her face. It leaves red marks around her eyes, lining her cheeks and forehead. She throws the mask in Cas’s direction. It skids across the table, sliding to a stop in front of him.

“I don’t need you to hold me back anymore.” She’s seething, and Cas should say something to calm her down. He should tell her it’s not her fault — it’s his. He doesn’t.

“My holding you back is the only thing keeping you alive.” The room falls silent. Anna stares at him, Balthazar downs the whiskey glass he must have brought from upstairs, and Claire fumes. Then she turns on her heel and stalks out, boots stomping across the glass floor. She doesn’t look back, and the door to the basement slams behind her.

“Castiel,” Anna says. He’s disappointed her again. He always wishes he were better with people, better at knowing what to say and how to say it. He wishes he could protect those he loves without hurting them in the process.

“I’ll go tell her I’m sorry.” Cas stands, but Anna shakes her head, says, “Not right now, okay? You’ll only fight with her again. Let it cool.” When he sits down, Anna asks, “What’s wrong with you lately?”

He could tell his sister about how he almost had a panic attack in the middle of a fight. He could tell her that when the grenade went off next to Claire and the bomb exploded behind Jack, he wasn’t all there with them — he was somewhere else, far away and long ago, screaming for help that never came. She remembers. She’d understand. Even Balthazar would understand.

“She’s too reckless,” is what Cas says instead. “They both are.”

“So were we,” Anna reminds him, and Balth snorts. It irks Cas, but he holds back from snapping when he sees the look on Anna’s face. He has enough damage control to do already. “You need to remember you aren’t _him_ , okay?” She never calls Chuck Dad. They hardly talk about him at all. He’s the silent spectre they live with 24/7, and they avoid saying his name. “You’re not forcing them into this. They chose this life with their eyes wide open.”

But they all know the kids don’t know everything about Halo. They don’t know what the mask does to those who wear it or to the sidekicks who follow them into battle. They haven’t lost anyone yet.

He closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I promise I’ll talk to her later.”

“Good,” Anna says. “Now, tell us about Hellfire.”

And Cas does. He tells his siblings about the mask and the emblem and the strange power emanating from the other man. He tells them about the woman who fought Claire. He tells them how Hellfire seemed to know his every move before he made it, catching every punch and kick, blocking every shot of Grace.

“I’ve pulled up a list of the usual suspects.” Anna swipes at the tablet in front of her seat, and it projects the photos of Halo’s rogues’ gallery. “He might be repackaging if he’s someone you’ve defeated before. They hate to lose twice.”

They go through the list together. Bartholomew is still in prison — maximum security. Gadreel went clean, and Cas believes he’s changed. Raphael is dead; so are the Grigori and the Rit Zien. Zachariah and Malachi are in Purgatory Asylum. Naomi isn’t a fighter, and neither is Metatron. Anna marks them down as possible funders, but Cas doubts they’d work with someone like Hellfire. They don’t like to get their hands that dirty, even adjacently.

“Could be Luke,” Balthazar says, because any time he speaks he has to stir up trouble. Anna stiffens.

“No,” Cas replies with surety. “He’s too tall to be Luke. Besides, I doubt he’s still alive. The courts couldn’t find him when Kelly died.” He doesn’t say that if their former brother were alive and able, he’d have come for them long before now.

“Too bad you didn’t get a better look at him.” Balthazar clicks his tongue. “Maybe we need to let Anna get an up close on him instead. She’s got a mind like a steel trap. If she’s seen him before, she’ll know.”

Cas lets the implied insult to his own mind slide. “It could be someone entirely new. Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution is the most likely.”

Balthazar leans forward, not finished yet. “Or it could be Demons. Any one of them would fit the bill.”

Cas’s fists clench at his side. _Yellow eyes, a bored smile.“I don’t want these two,” Azazel says. “You can play with them. Just bring me one back.”_ He tries to focus on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“Don’t,” Anna warns Balthazar, seeing Cas’s face, but Balthazar says, “Did we confirm you and Chuck killed them all?”

Before Cas can lose his temper again, Anna loses hers. “Shut up, Balthazar! What is wrong with you?”

Balthazar, though far from sorry, does seem to remember some topics are off limits in the Shurley household. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m simply pointing out the obvious — you said he has powers, correct?” He looks at Cas, a challenge in his eyes. “Would you even remember what Corruption feels like?”

“I will _never_ forget what Corruption feels like.” Maybe he was wrong earlier, thinking Balthazar would understand if Cas told them the truth — that fifteen years later, he still lies awake at night and remembers the screams, feels the burning in his lungs. Azazel’s impassive eyes, Alastair’s hands on his throat. “I’m telling you, Hellfire’s power felt similar but it isn’t the same.”

Blessedly Balthazar shuts up, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Cas speculatively. Even he sometimes knows when he’s pushed too far. Anna speaks before Cas can, saving him from saying something else he’d regret later.

“Let’s get some rest. We could all use some cooling off time.” She’s shutting down her tablet, ignoring Balthazar as he slinks away and speaking to Cas. “I’ll keep looking into Hellfire. Cas, you’ve got to do something about Roman. Direct action is the only option we have left now. He knows you’re after him.”

He drums his fingers on the table as he stands, considering. “But he doesn’t know Cas Novak is after him.”

She tilts her head to one side and raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Roman has dinner at Browns’ Club every Thursday. I’ve seen him there. If we can get a bug on the table, we might be able to find out who he’s been trying to sell to.”

“He’s not going to tell you,” Anna points out. “You’re a business rival, and he knows you hate him. You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

This is true. If the ultra-rich didn’t flock together so loyally, Cas would be frozen out of every VIP room in town. His money buys him privileges his open disdain should cost him. The other Purgatory elites know Cas Novak as a recluse and a sanctimonious asshole, but to them none of that matters as long as his stock is climbing.

But just because Roman will acknowledge him with a nod in public settings doesn’t mean he’ll talk to Cas like they’re old friends. They need subtlety here, and Anna is right. Cas doesn’t have a light touch.

“I’m going to need Claire,” he admits, and Anna laughs in his face.

“Yeah,” she says. “Good fucking luck.”

“You could do it?” he suggests meekly, and Anna laughs even harder. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s tried to get her back in the field. This is her reaction every time.

“Absolutely not,” Anna says, wiping at her eyes. “You idiot. You’ve made your bed.” She slugs him lightly on the shoulder as she walks away. “Now you have to unmake it.”

///

Once a month, Cas attends the Shurley Enterprises board meetings. It’s one of his least favorite things to do. The Shurley family money makes its own money at this point, and the company’s holdings are vast and diverse. He cares about Shurley Enterprises so far as the company pays him a salary which he invests directly into Halo. He’s never been interested in stocks and bonds and graphs and estimates. It makes him a bad president and CEO, certainly, but a good vigilante.

The meetings are held on the top floor of Shurley Tower in downtown Purgatory. Downtown is as bleak as the rest of the city at night, when Cas normally prowls the streets — the buildings are all dark granite or blackened glass, and the ever-present fog lingers at ground level, giving the streets an eerie, isolated feeling. In the day, though, with the sun shining and the food trucks out and people filling the sidewalks, downtown seems like another place entirely. Cas enjoys one thing about board meeting day: when the meeting is over, he gets to walk the streets of his city in the daylight for once.

And his normal route takes him right by the offices of the city’s premier newspaper, the _Purgatory Piper_. Cas pauses on the sidewalk and pedestrian traffic continues its flow around him. He stares at the Gothic font on the glass doors till it blurs. He shouldn’t go in. He’s pissed off enough people lately.

He goes in.

Despite being one the most prominent citizens of Purgatory, Cas has never set foot in these offices. Anna handles interviews for the family; the CFO handles them for the company. It is everyone’s opinion that Cas is better off kept behind the scenes. He doesn’t have the social skills necessary to smile and make nice when he doesn’t feel like it. So although he’s given a few canned and pre-approved quotes to the _Piper_ before, he’s never sat down with any of its reporters until he met Dean. All the other reporters know this, which is why the room falls silent when Cas walks in.

The first floor of the _Piper_ offices is an open layout crammed with rows of desks and computers. Cas’s eyes rove over the crowded room, looking for Dean. All he sees are openmouthed _Piper_ employees he doesn’t recognize. No smartass with an infuriating smile.

“Ah, Mr. Novak?” A nervous looking kid appears at his left elbow. “Are you— Are you here for an interview?”

Cas keeps scanning the room. “I’m here to see Dean Smith.”

“I don’t know if he’s here.” The kid, who looks not a day over eighteen and must be an intern, hesitantly gestures toward the stairway at the back of the room. “I can take you up to Mr. Turner’s office if you’d like?”

“Alright.”

Cas knows of Rufus Turner. The editor of the _Piper_ doesn’t hesitate to criticize Halo. Turner once wrote in a column, “The citizens of this city pay taxes for special services, and one of the privileges those taxes presumably grants us is a say in who our public servants are. Halo might think of himself as a public servant, but he’s not one. We have no say over his actions; no recourse should he go rogue. Money is power in Purgatory, and he’s not funded by us. So who does Halo answer to?” Cas never forgot those words. He’s wondered ever since how many people in Purgatory think he’s a hero and how many think he’s someone else’s attack dog.

He doesn’t want to see Turner, but he does want to know where Dean is. He follows the intern through the middle of the room, keeping his eyes straight ahead as they pass rows of confounded reporters. At the top of the stairs, Rufus Turner is already waiting for them.

“I saw you come in,” he says by way of explanation, pulling his glasses off his nose. He nods at the intern, says, “Thank you, Kevin” in dismissal, then turns back to Cas. “Would you like to step into my office, Mr. Novak?”

“That’s not necessary.” Turner’s thick eyebrows raise. “I’m just looking for Dean Smith.”

“Ah.” Turner crosses his arms over his chest. “If you’re here to complain about the piece he wrote on the Shurley Foundation, you can direct those complaints to me.”

Cas read the piece. He knows it was fair. He’s not going to tell Turner that. “No, I’m here because he mentioned doing a follow-up and I was in the area.”

It’s a lie, one Turner doesn’t seem to buy. The older man’s lips press together, considering. He seems to decide Dean can fend for himself against the big, bad billionaire, shaking his head as he says, “Smith is a freelancer. He doesn’t do office work. You want to find him, he’s probably at the Purgatory Public Library.” He narrows his eyes at Cas, unimpressed. “You know where that is?”

“Yes,” Cas says curtly. “Thank you.”

He turns and half jogs back down the stairs, eager to be away from Turner’s suspicion and the reporters’ confusion.

The library is only a block down the street and impossible to miss. It’s one of the city’s first buildings, a Gothic-style cathedral converted into a library fifty years ago. Cas walks briskly past the gargoyles guarding the door and into the nave. A massive black walnut desk sits right inside the entrance, and the librarian sitting there does a double take when she sees him.

“Mr. Novak.” She brushes her red hair behind one ear. It’s a little bit lighter than Anna’s. He smiles at her. “No one mentioned you were coming. Are you here for a photo with the new plaque?”

She gestures behind him, and Cas twists around to see a large bronze plaque on the wall just behind the door.

**_Purgatory Public Library_ **

**_Renovated July 2012_ **

**_Renovations funded by the Shurley Foundation_ **

Cas doesn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t realize they’d funded any renovations at the library in the past year. He only vaguely recalls the scaffolding outside the building as he walked past it.

“Yes,” he tells her. “Then maybe you could give me a quick tour?”

She beams.

In the next fifteen minutes Cas learns more than he ever needed to know about the library and about this particular librarian. Her name is Charlie, she’s new in town, she loves to read manga and she’s the world record holder of the highest score in a video game called “Leviathan.” She talks so much Cas wonders how she possibly became a librarian. Charlie leads him through the nave, converted into a four-story stack of book shelves, and into the rare books room, a former side chapel, then she walks him into the old rectory, which now serves as a silent reading room. She tells him the full history of the stained glass windows, and whispers that the crypt is still under renovation, but if he comes back in a few months she’ll let him be the first to see it.

“I appreciate that,” Cas says. “Ah, is there anything of interest on the second floor? Not the stacks, but the walkways?” He points to the arched windows hiding the walkways above the nave.

“More tables and couches to sit at,” Charlie says. “There’s a little cafe, too, above the old chapel. It used to be where the nunnery connected to the cathedral, but now we sell coffee there.” She laughs. “Imagine what the sisters would think.”

“I might head that way, grab a drink. Thank you so much, Charlie.”

“No, thank you.” She flashes him a smile and a strange hand signal as she heads back to her desk.

When Cas reaches the little cafe, his stomach twists. Dean sits at a table in the back corner, laptop in front of him, drinking from a mug with a chip in one side. His eyes meet Cas’s over his coffee, and his neutral face falls into something pinched and bitter. Cas hates it, and he doesn’t know why.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, stopping in front of Dean’s table.

“We’re on a first name basis again?” Dean asks, sipping from his mug to hide his face.

“Can I apologize?” Cas asks before he completely knows what he’s saying. Once it’s out there — once Dean lowers his mug and looks up at him, considering — he knows it was the right thing to say for once. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“We didn’t get off at all,” Dean points out, and Cas blushes. Dean smiles. Cas likes the dimple that shows up in his cheek a lot. “Sit down, Cas.” He gestures to the burly barista behind the counter. “Hey Benny, could we get a cappuccino over here?”

“How do you know I like cappuccino?”

Dean gestures from Cas’s Italian leather loafers to his tailored suit jacket. “You look like you’ve just returned on private jet from fucking Rome, man. Of course you like cappuccino.”

“I just got out of a board meeting.” Cas tugs self-consciously at his tie. It’s blue. Claire told him he should always wear blue ties to match his eyes. He wonders if Dean notices.

“Enterprises or Foundation?”

“Enterprises. We’re still looking at candidates for the new Foundation board. The old ones did not take their pay cuts well. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No, actually.” Cas offers Benny a faint smile as the other man sets his drink on the table. “You were right. I’d stopped paying attention to the Foundation. I know this is going to sound entitled and insane, but I have more money than I know what to do with. I’m used to letting other people handle it and not thinking about it too much.”

“You’re right,” Dean says. “That’s incredibly entitled and privileged and _blah, blah, blah_.” He waves his hand around in a circling motion. “I’ve given you this speech before.”

“You have.” Cas idly stirs sugar into his coffee, erasing the leaf design Benny made in the foam. “I’m aware of your stance on billionaires.”

Dean leans forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on the table. “Look, it’s nice you’re trying to do the right thing with the foundation. I applaud you, seriously.” Cas gives him a dubious look. “Seriously! But that doesn’t change the core issue: you have more money than you’ll ever need, times millions. You’ve said it yourself. So, honest question — why do you keep it?”

“As opposed to?”

Dean shrugs. “Giving most of it away to people who do need it.”

Cas meant it when he told Dean he doesn’t think about money much. He always has enough — for Halo and the Headquarters, for Jack and Claire and Anna and Balthazar. At every board meeting the numbers swell. Shurley Enterprises, the company built by a grandfather he never met, is the largest business conglomerate in the world. It’s never felt like his. Halo was given to him because he earned the mask; Chuck chose him to lead. Shurley Enterprises was only signed over to him because Anna refused the position he now holds and every other child in the Shurley family had been disowned by their mercurial father. It’s not his in any way that matters.

“Off the record?” Cas asks. He keeps stirring his cappuccino mindlessly. Dean nods. He’s listening. “I was adopted. Not a lot of people know that. They assume because of my father’s public persona that my siblings and I are love children of various anonymous women. But we’re all adopted. Chuck Shurley had no biological children.”

As a child, Cas didn’t even know this. He knew he was adopted, and he knew Anna and Balthazar were, too. But his father’s oldest children, Michael and Luke, used to tell the little ones they were Chuck’s only real children. That Chuck loved them more because they were actually his.

“He was capricious, our father. He put the company before everything.” He put Halo before everything, but Shurley Enterprises was a close second. Chuck didn’t believe in a work-life balance. Just work.

“Sounds like a great dad,” Dean says. Cas chuckles bitterly.

“When I was eight, my eldest brother Michael died in a boating accident.” He died when Luke shot him with bolt of Grace in a fit of rage during one of their many idiotic disagreements, knocking him off the family yacht. Michael couldn’t swim. They never found his body. “My brother Luke was partially to blame — he didn’t mean to kill Michael, but he caused the accident. My father disowned him, disinherited him. He’d just turned eighteen, he had no life skills because he’d been raised in the lap of luxury, and my father threw him out onto the streets of Purgatory. We never saw him again.”

The night Chuck kicked Luke out, he called all the children to the family sitting room. He wore his Halo costume. They were in awe. “I need you three to be my new helpers,” he told them. “It’s time to grow up.” Anna was nine, Cas eight, and Balthazar seven. They started fight training the next day. Chuck called them the Trinity.

“The rest of us grew up terrified of the man. I remember my sister Anna telling us we had to be good, or else Daddy would do to us what he did to Luke. She wasn’t trying to be mean. She was being honest. He eventually disowned our youngest brother, Balthazar, as well, and for a much lesser offense. The thought that your entire life could be taken away at any moment, that you could go from everything to nothing... I know this sounds like ‘oh, poor little rich boy,’ but Dean, I was adopted at age six. I remembered the foster homes. Getting too old and becoming ‘undesirable’ to potential parents; getting ignored by my foster families at best and bullied by them at worst. I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to living like that. So I did everything he ever asked of me.”

Dean is silent for a while, considering. He says, “Rich people can have bad shit happen to them, too. No kid should be afraid their parents will abandon them with nothing. Your dad sounds like a total asshole.”

“He was.” It’s nice to admit it to someone. Ellen and Balthazar complain about Chuck so much that Cas feels strangely defensive of the man around them, a knee-jerk reaction he can’t train himself out of. Anna won’t talk about him at all. Claire and Jack never really knew him. “He didn’t want to leave Shurley Enterprises to me. He gave it to Anna, and she turned it down. I didn’t have the strength to do the same.” He couldn’t let Halo go, and if he gave up the company, there would be no Halo. His father, despised as Chuck Shurley, was loved as the vigilante. Cas wanted to be Halo, and he wanted to be a good man. He thought he could be both. “Now I try not to think about the money because it’s mine and it can’t be taken away. I used to worry about it all the time. I don’t want to acknowledge it anymore.”

“Cas,” Dean says, “I’m a major hypocrite for saying this because trust me, I know daddy issues. But my friend Ch— My best friend always says to me, ‘You need therapy for that.’ Sounds like maybe you need therapy, not money.”

“Your friend is probably right.” Cas decides to take a sip of his cappuccino. It’s lukewarm. “What are your ‘daddy issues?’”

For a moment, Dean’s face freezes and Cas thinks he’s gone too far. Then Dean laughs. “God, no one uses air quotes anymore. And no one spills all their trauma on the first date — at least not usually.”

“Is this a date?” Cas’s cheeks color. He’s shocked to realize he’d like that. It’s not a good idea since Dean is hellbent on making him out to be an asshole, but he’d like it all the same.

Dean smiles, shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “This is my place of work.” He taps his pen against the edge of the table. “And I need to be working, but I’ll give you a bit of my own bitter pie for the road. Once when my old man got drunk — he was drunk a lot — he told me my little brother was his favorite, and I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”

Cas thinks of Chuck, staring longingly at Michael’s portrait in the main hall of Shurley Manor. Chuck never hid his favoritism from the rest of his children. “I’m sorry.”

Dean raises his mug with a pasted-on grin. “To shit dads.”

Cas clinks his cup against Dean’s. “To shit dads.” They both drink. Cas puts his mug down, and Dean reaches across the table to wipe the foam away from Cas’s upper lip. Cas’s heart does weird things in his chest.

“I suppose I should go,” he says when Dean realizes what he’s done and pulls away quickly. “Let you get back to work.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice sounds rougher than usual. “I’ve got a piece to finish writing.”

“Okay.” Cas stands, tries to think of something to say that isn’t goodbye. What he comes up with is “Dean, what do you think I should do with the money?”

Dean stares at him, mouth open slightly. “Why does my opinion matter to you?” He sounds stunned, lost. It’s maybe the most sincere Dean’s ever sounded, and they just finished a very sincere conversation.

“I don’t know,” Cas admits. “It just does.”

They stare at each other for a beat, and Dean says, “You could start with permanent housing for the homeless. The city needs that. Badly.”

“Okay,” Cas says, “I can do that.” He nods to himself, resolute. “Well. Goodbye, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, still sounding dumbfounded. “Bye, Cas.”

///

As he walks away from the library, Cas spots a **_For Lease_** sign in a window of an old high-rise downtown. It’s a measly twenty stories, much smaller and older than the buildings around it, but it will do just fine. More than fine.

Cas calls his real estate broker. “Hello,” he says, “I need you to make an offer on 420 Purgatory Main... To buy, not lease… Yes, the whole building.”


	7. Bad Boss

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you,” Claire says for the tenth time. “You owe me big time.”

Cas’s hands tense on the wheel, knuckles whitening. He’s already apologized and he’s tired of rehashing the same old argument. “You wanted to be more involved. This is your chance.”

“I wanted to fight. This is me going in as bait.”

“Don’t say that.” When she came down the stairs at the manor, hair up in a high bun and wearing a very grown-up dress, Cas felt sick to his stomach. She’s his child in every way that counts, and she’s an adult now. He hadn’t realized.

“It’s true.” She applies her lipstick in the Ferrari’s rearview mirror. “Don’t look so constipated. A, you know I won’t let any of them get closer to me than I want them to be, and B…” She grins. There’s a tiny spot of lipstick on one of her teeth. “I don’t want them close to me. I like women.”

With that, Claire exits the car. Cas is left staring after her, then scrambling to catch up. “You’ve never told me that!” She’s never mentioned any interest in anyone, ever. Cas thought maybe she wasn’t into romance or relationships, or maybe she hadn’t met any boy to connect with. Jack seems to fall in love with every pretty girl he sees. It stood to reason Claire would be his opposite there as she is in almost every other way.

“ _You’re_ not straight,” she says simply, nodding to the bouncer as he holds open the door to the gold-gilded elevator. “I thought you’d know.”

“I didn’t.”

She crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back against the mirrored wall. For a moment, she looks like the grumpy twelve-year-old orphan he took in eight years ago. “Is it gonna be a problem?”

“No,” he says, a little hurt she’d even ask. “Absolutely not. I was just surprised. Is there— somebody? From one of your classes, maybe?”

“Ugh.” Claire rolls her eyes. “Not the time.” Pointedly not answering his question, she exits the elevator as soon as the doors open, leaving Cas no choice but to follow her into Browns’ Club, Purgatory’s most exclusive supper club.

The massive dining room, which takes up the entire top floor of downtown’s second largest building (Shurley Tower is the tallest, of course), is decorated like the first-class dining room of some elaborate early 20th century steamship. The walls and furniture are mahogany and gold, the ceilings are covered in elaborate murals, and the dance floor in the center of the room is full of well-dressed men and women attempting to waltz. It’s a popular spot for clandestine business meetings — the staff is notoriously tight-lipped and the paparazzi aren’t on the guest list. Men with something to hide can grab a dimly lit corner booth and disappear. Cas already knows which corner is Roman’s.

He’s following Claire past the dance floor when someone grabs his arm. Affronted, Cas prepares to shove the person away, only to turn around and come face to face with Dean Smith.

“Hey.” Dean’s teeth are straight and white. He has freckles on his cheeks. Cas hates him, but he doesn’t. “Imagine seeing you here.”

“Imagine seeing _you_ here,” Cas says, gently pulling his arm away from Dean so the other man won’t notice the slight tremor working its way through his body. “At the risk of offending you yet again, may I ask how you managed to talk your way in?”

Dean’s still smiling like the cat who got the mouse. “You think anybody turns down this face?”

Cas almost blurts out, “No!” Thankfully Claire saves him from massive embarrassment by clearing her throat.

“Oh, hi,” Dean says, turning his dazzling, high-cheekboned face upon her as if his charm is a disease from which no one is immune. “You must be Claire Novak?”

“You must be the douchebag from the news.” Claire, as Cas well knows, is inoculated from all forms of male bullshit.

Dean blinks rapidly, taken aback. Cas enjoys it. It’s like watching an otherwise perfect computer program suddenly glitch and then try to reboot. “Yeah, that’s me. Though I prefer ‘asshole from the news.’ I always thought douchebag was a more fitting insult for chauvinists.”

“Ah, you want me to give you an ‘I respect women’ award?” Claire asks. “Do you think if I do it will impress Cas and he’ll let you get into his pants?”

“Claire!” Cas hasn’t been this red since Chuck tried to give him “the talk” when he was fourteen.

“What?” Claire says to him. “Balthazar told me you danced together at the Foundation party.” She turns back to Dean. “Do all reporters really fall into the trope of sex for quotes?”

“Nah.” Dean seems to have regained some of his lost dignity and veered back into cocky territory. It’s a defense mechanism, Cas realizes. “Only the really hot ones.”

Claire looks him up and down. “You’re a little old to be called ‘hot,’” she says, which for a twenty-something is the height of bitter insults.

“Perfect age for your uncle, though.”

Cas thought he couldn’t blush any harder. He was wrong. Claire actually smiles — a closed-lipped, tight smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Touché, old man.”

“You’re the old man,” Dean mumbles, which makes no sense, but he’s grinning, too. Cas looks between them, lost. Does Claire _respect_ this kind of nonsense? Should he be trading barbs with her instead of lecturing her?

“Well,” Claire says with an eye roll slightly less vicious than her usual, “I think I see my friends. You two have fun. And remember — wrap it before you tap it.”

“Claire!” Cas almost chokes on nothing, but she’s already sashaying away, honed in on Roman’s table in the far corner. He turns to Dean, wishing he had his mask to hide his red face. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t be. She’s your ward, right? Kid’s just being protective in her own way.” He jerks his head toward the bar. “Want to get a drink?”

Cas wants to follow behind Claire, smother her and make sure she’s safe, but if Roman spots him they won’t get anything out of tonight. So he lets Dean lead him to the bar at the other end of the room.

“She’s my niece, actually,” Cas tells Dean, walking close enough their hands almost touch. Dean’s knuckles occasionally graze his. When they reach the bar, they sit turned toward each other, knees practically pressed together.

“Which sibling’s kid?”

“None of the ones you’d have seen in the paper. I was a twin. I found out later he was adopted when we were two months old. They didn’t want two babies, so…”

Cas raises a hand to flag down the bartender, trying to be nonchalant. When he found out about Jimmy he’d reached out to the Novaks, wanting to know more about him. Jimmy’s parents weren’t interested in talking to Cas, and they didn’t want him to meet Claire. They hadn’t wanted him as an abandoned child, and they didn’t want him as a lonely adult. It hurt like hell. When they died he almost couldn’t believe they’d listed him as Claire’s next-of-kin. 

“He and his wife Amelia died in a car accident when Claire was seven. His parents raised her until they both died of cancer about two months apart. She came home with me on her twelfth birthday. She’s been my little terror ever since.”

Cas doesn’t know how to describe the look Dean is giving him. It’s softer, somehow, then the way they’ve looked at each other before.

“You have another kid, right? They’re not in the papers much. I don’t remember his name.”

“Jack. My nephew. He’s my brother Luke’s son. I became his guardian three years before I became Claire’s.”

“Another orphan?” Dean asks.

“Shurley Manor is chock-full of orphans. It should be called the Shurley Orphanage,” Cas jokes.

The bartender sets their drinks on the counter. Dean rolls his glass of whiskey between his palms. “Why’d you take the name Novak? No offense to the dead, but it sounds like Claire’s grandparents were kind of dicks to you.”

“I did it for Jimmy, and for Claire.” Cas thinks of Claire’s precious photo albums, a face just like his but with more laugh lines. “Claire talked about him like he hung the moon. And I didn’t want to be a Shurley anymore. At that point, none of the rest of my family were. Anna’s last name is Milton, after her biological mother. Balthazar decided to be a King, purely because he wanted to. Jack had his mother’s name, and Claire already felt out of place. She was the last one to come to the family. I thought if I took her name, she’d know she could trust me.” It worked. She’d cried when she realized Cas wasn’t planning on dumping her on someone else.

Dean’s still giving him that look, considering and bordering on kind. It makes Cas uncomfortable. Their relationship is meant to be antagonistic, he thinks. “What?” he asks, and Dean says seriously, “You love her a lot.”

“Yes.” He takes a swig of gin to push down the lump in his throat. Cas is not the best father-figure, but he tries. It’s more than his father ever did. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Then why is she here talking to Dick Roman? You know he’s no good.”

Cas had hoped Dean wouldn’t notice Claire sitting on the edge of the booth at Roman’s table and flirting relentlessly with a flustered young man Cas doesn’t recognize. He can’t tell Dean the full truth, but maybe he can tell him part of it.

“Off the record,” he says, and Dean snorts.

“You haven’t been on the record since El Cobra…”

“ _Off the record_ ,” Cas insists, but he says it so obnoxiously Dean must know he’s joking. “I’m considering a hostile takeover of Roman Inc.” Dean starts, eyes wide. “Look, I know he’s not just some snake oil salesman of diet products. The Hellfire video made that clear. Maybe he made a good point — Roman needs to go down. I have the money to make it happen. And Claire is the most self-righteous person I know, other than you. She pushed her way into helping.”

“Helping how?” Dean asks. “This isn’t going to be strictly legal, is it?”

“No,” Cas confesses, to a journalist, like an idiot with a crush. Like the idiot he knows he is if he trusts Dean at all, which, unfortunately, he does. “She’s planting a bug at the table. I need to know who he’s dealing with so I know who I’m dealing with.” 

It’s not entirely a lie — if Mills can’t take Roman out via the justice system, and Halo can’t stop him via intimidation, then Cas might be able to buy him out. It’s just not his plan A.

“When I said you could do more with your money, I didn’t picture this,” Dean admits, absently running his finger along the edge of his glass.

“Are you going to write a story about it?” Cas asks, and he’s surprised by how quickly Dean says, “No. Off the record is off the record, Cas.”

“Good.” Cas stares into his own drink. “That’s good to know.”

“I might even help.” He nods toward Roman’s table. “See the guy next to Claire? He’s why I’m here. I heard he was in town, might have followed him from his hotel.” Dean winks. “That’s Gavin MacLeod, the grandson of Rowena MacLeod. Heir to a Scottish crime dynasty.”

Cas knows of the MacLeods. They’re not in his wheelhouse, keeping their game to the other side of the Atlantic — until now. It’s not a good sign they’re sending representatives to Purgatory. Rowena MacLeod is a powerful Corruption user. Cas has heard rumors she can bring people back from the dead, a talent previously associated only with Azazel himself.

“They’re the buyers,” Cas says, putting two and two together. “The shipment stolen by Hellfire was meant for them.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I think so, too. I was hoping to get a closer look at whatever’s in MacLeod’s briefcase, but Claire’s doing my job for me.” They keep their knees turned together, careful to watch the table peripherally. “What have you heard about him?”

“MacLeod?”

“No,” Dean says. “Hellfire.”

_Next to nothing_ , Cas thinks, frustrated. Other than the two attacks on Roman, Hellfire and his team have been quiet. Too quiet. Cas doesn’t like it. They’re waiting to strike, but when and where and why he can’t figure out. Hellfire took a shot at Halo and injured Jack, and just because they’re after the same target doesn’t mean they’re on the same side. _The enemy of my enemy is still my enemy, because this isn’t a fucking fairy tale,_ as Chuck would say.

Aloud he says, “I don't pay much attention to vigilantes. Halo, Hellfire — what’s the difference?” It hurts to smile. “The real power in Purgatory comes from money, as you well know.”

“Really?” Dean asks, incredulous. “I thought all of Purgatory worships the ground Halo walks on. Saving little old women from nasty burglars, stopping armed robberies and rescuing damsels in distress… They eat that shit up at the _Piper_.”

Cas notes with disappointment Dean doesn’t seem impressed by Halo. He shouldn’t be surprised. Dean isn’t impressed with him in any form.

“He dresses like a ghost with a BDSM fetish,” Cas says, borrowing a direct quote from Balthazar. “He’s probably some loser with daddy issues and a god-complex topped with a compulsive need to fix everything.”

Dean laughs, hitting Cas lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Doesn’t that describe you?”

Cas forces a laugh of his own. “Yes,” he admits. “Yes, it does.”

Claire has excellent timing tonight, sweeping up to the bar and taking Cas’s elbow before he can try to out himself as Halo (again). “It’s done,” she whispers in his ear. “Table bugged; they’re none the wiser.”

“You’re not going to give dear Gavin a date?” Cas asks, and Dean pretends not to notice when Claire shoots him a searching look that screams _why are we talking about this in front of_ him _?_

She says, “Not my type, but I did get his number. Might come in handy. Who knows. Are you ready to go?”

He isn’t ready to go. Dean’s knee presses against his, and Cas thinks about doing something stupid.

“I’m ready to leave here, that’s for sure.” He sees Dean’s face fall, sees him try to hide it behind his glass, and it’s easy to take the leap. “I could use another drink, though. Dean, I know a pretty good bar downtown. Would you want to come?”

Dean sets his glass down on the counter with a loud _clink_ , startled. Claire groans next to Cas’s ear.

“Yeah,” Dean says, regaining his composure. “I’m down.”

“I’m not.” Claire slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’m taking the Ferrari. You can find your own way home.”

As she walks away, Dean grins and nudges Cas with his shoulder. “I fucking knew it. Of course you have a Ferrari.”

“It’s a good car!” Cas protests, and Dean laughs at him. It makes his feet feel lighter as they make their way to the door, away from the pretentious crowds Cas hates and into the dark streets of the city he loves.


	8. Superheroes Stay Single

Galaxy is a hole-in-the-wall bar on the edge of downtown and the warehouse district. It’s grungy and cheap, and Cas loves it for a couple reasons — there’s never anyone there from his social set, he’s gotten great leads on the criminal underground by listening in on other patrons’ conversations, and the view from the rooftop is excellent.

Cas leads Dean up the stairs, trying to ignore the way his shoe soles stick to the spilled beer on the floor with every step. When he passes through the door to the roof, Dean puts his hand on the small of Cas’s back. Cas shivers, but not from the chill of the night air.

“Over here,” he says, pointing to the rickety stools lining the wall. They take their seats and Dean leans against the wall, looking out onto the streets below.

“Nice view,” he says. From Galaxy’s rooftop you can see straight down Purgatory Main and into the square with all of the downtown skyscrapers, piercing the night sky with their lights. “I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to be a dive bar type of guy.”

“I’m not usually,” Cas confesses. “I happened upon this place once, and no one acted like they knew who I was. That’s a rarity. So I kept coming back.”

They sip from their beer bottles, Dean’s knee still pressed into Cas’s. The nerve endings in his leg are on fire where they touch.

“You can see 420 Purgatory Main from here,” Dean says casually. Cas hums in response. “The Shurley Foundation just bought it. I’m guessing you know why?”

Cas looks at the building, dark and unlit. The **_For Sale_ **signs in the windows have been replaced with scaffolding and construction tape. “Someone told me this city needed housing for the homeless.”

“Unbelievable,” Dean says, shaking his head. Cas tenses, but Dean’s smiling. “And the anonymous donation to fix the water crisis in those apartments in the warehouse district? That was you, too?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Cas says. He feels buzzed, which is absurd considering his Grace gives him much higher tolerance than a measly two drinks.

“I know it was you, Cas. I have good sources.”

“I’m trying to do more with my money.” And he’s trying to ease back on the Halo missions. In the past week, he’s gone out in the mask four nights instead of seven. For once it didn’t make him feel guilty to take a break. He was still doing good, in maybe an even more tangible way. “You were right. I don’t need it, so I have a responsibility to give it to people who do. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

Dean picks at the label on his beer, not looking at Cas. “If you’re doing this to impress me—”

Cas interrupts, “I don’t think you can be bought. I’m doing it for me, and because it’s the right thing to do. Like I said, I do care.”

“You are—” Dean pauses, thinking. “Nothing like I thought you’d be.”

“I would hope not. You certainly didn’t think much of me when we met.”

Dean leans a little closer to him, brushing his thigh against Cas's knee. Cas is tense as a coiled spring, the way he gets before he charges into a fight — but this anticipatory tension is much, much better. “I dunno, man,” Dean says, and his eyes are on Cas’s mouth. “I thought you were pretty hot. That’s proven true.” And he leans in.

Dean kisses like the rain in Purgatory. Steady. Relentless, but soft. One of his hands reaches up to cup Cas’s face, and Cas thinks, dizzy, _I bet this looks like a kiss in the movies._ He’s never been kissed with such care.

When Dean pulls back his eyes stay closed for a moment, and Cas admires the sweep of his dark lashes along his cheeks, his wet lips and his freckled nose.

“You’re nicer than I’d thought you’d be,” he whispers, and Dean grins so wide Cas can see his every laugh line deepening.

“Well,” Dean says. His hand moves from Cas’s cheek to his shoulder, trailing down his arm to grab his hand and lace their fingers together. “I think I just shot myself in the foot, professionally speaking. Can’t cover a guy you’ve made out with.”

“A major conflict of interest,” Cas agrees. “But we haven’t really made out yet—”

Dean interrupts him with another kiss, and this time there’s tongue. Cas laughs into it, and Dean does, too. It should be awkward. It isn’t. Dean tugs him closer by his lapels, and Cas ends up halfway in his lap, legs crossed over Dean’s, arms around his neck. He hasn’t done this in ages — curled up with someone, horny as a teenager, and making decisions just as stupid as a teenager’s. He huffs a laugh, and Dean pulls away.

“What?” He pokes Cas in the stomach, and Cas reluctantly sits back, letting his legs fall from Dean’s.

“Nothing, I was just— It’s been a while.”

“Are you telling me the most eligible man in Purgatory isn’t regularly getting some?” Dean teases, eyes bright.

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not very personable. You may have noticed.”

Dean takes Cas’s hand in his again, tracing the backs of his knuckles with his thumb. “For me it’s been, ah, about a year? Maybe a little more. Bar hookups get harder the older I get.”

Cas finds it hard to believe anyone could see Dean and _not_ want to be with him. “I haven’t kissed anyone since New Years, when Balthazar shoved some poor girl at me. Everything else has been… much longer.”

“How much longer?” Dean asks, and he doesn’t sound invasive. Just curious.

“I was briefly married in Las Vegas about five years ago,” he says, and Dean’s eyes go round and huge. “Shut up,” Cas tells him preemptively. “She worked for the company and we’d known each other for a while.” Acerbic, beautiful, haughty Meg. He wonders where she is now, wonders why she wanted to marry him in the first place. “We got it annulled in under a week, and she left town right after. She’s the last person I slept with.”

Dean’s thumb keeps smoothing over his knuckles. “Who was the first?”

“First hookup?” He thinks back to his early twenties, drunken and desperate and lonely, his world falling down around his ears. “Some man I met in Europe on a business trip with my father.” They’d met while Cas was on a hunt, looking for Azazel and Alistair. Cas’d been so strung out back then, wasting away and needing to feel something. Anything. He doesn't remember much about the encounter except it left him feeling worse, not better.

“So you’re bisexual?”

“I guess.” He’s never cared much for labeling his sexuality. “I prefer men, though. You?”

“I’m bi.” Dean says it with a refreshing ease. A lot of men have trouble admitting they enjoy sleeping with other men. “I guess I prefer women in general, but there’s been a healthy amount of dudes in the mix. My first kiss was with a guy, actually.”

There’s a lump in Cas’s throat. First hookups? Fine. First kiss? He doesn’t want to get into it. “So was mine,” he says, and it hurts. He doesn’t know why he said anything at all, except Dean makes him want to lay bare his deepest, darkest secrets.

Dean must notice the shift in Cas’s eyes, the change in his tone. “I’ve never been married,” he says, moving on, and Cas is grateful.

“Mine was annulled, so it hardly counts.”

“You’re still a divorcee.” Dean grins. “Scandalous. I like it.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, it was the talk of the town. What a rake I am, seducing and bamboozling pure young women…”

Dean laughs, a hand dropping to squeeze Cas’s knee. “I’m not pure or young or a woman. You don’t have to worry about bamboozling me.” He leans forward and kisses Cas again. Slow. Deep. When he stops, this time he leaves his hand on Cas’s cheek.

“Tell me something about you,” Cas whispers, staring at the glimmering green in Dean’s eyes. “I’ve been spilling all my secrets. All I know about you is you’re a reporter with a deep sense of justice and a shitty dad.”

Dean chuckles, dropping his forehead against Cas’s for a moment before leaning back in his seat. “Okay. Fair’s fair.” He drums his fingers against his chin, pretending to think. “I left home as a teenager. I lived in Scotland for a couple years in my twenties, doing odd jobs and trying to get my shit together. Eventually got my GED-equivalent to prove something to myself and ended up going to school for journalism. Moved back here when I ran out of money overseas. I’ve been a freelancer ever since ‘cause I haven’t found anything to keep me in one place for long.”

He holds Cas’s gaze, and Cas imagines they’re both looking for the same thing. Reassurance, affection, a hand to hold. He takes Dean’s. Dean continues, “I’m an Aquarius. I like long walks on the beach, but maybe not Purgatory beach because it’s kind of dirty, and frisky women. And men.” He raises his eyebrows at Cas. “My favorite food is apple pie. I’m a good cook, but I can’t quite get my mom’s pie recipe right. It’s a source of much frustration. My greatest ambition is to take down the bad guys and watch every episode of _Dr. Sexy, MD_ at least twice. Is that good enough?”

“No,” Cas says truthfully. He has a million questions: _what happened to your mother, why Scotland of all places, what made you want to be a journalist, when did you know you liked men?_ He suspects he’ll never learn enough about Dean. “But it will do for tonight.”

He finishes his beer and chases it with Dean’s kisses. Dean is a good kisser — a great one, even, and Cas hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this till he had it. It’s more addictive than Grace, a buzz much stronger than alcohol. He wants it to never end. So of course it must.

Cas sees the Halo signal activate from behind his closed eyelids. It hangs over Purgatory like a lesser moon, calling him. He closes his eyes shut harder, kisses Dean with more insistence. For once he’d like to be a normal person, on a date with a man he really likes, who’s biggest worry is whether it would be moving too fast to ask said man to come home with him. But he can’t take Dean home. Mills is looking for him. Looking for Halo.

“Dean.” He pulls away with reluctance, hands clinging to Dean’s shoulders stubbornly. “This has been— It’s been a very good night.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Dean leans back, and Cas’s hands fall away.

“No,” Cas insists, trying to think of a reason to leave when he’s dying to stay. “No ‘but.’ I was going to ask if you’d want to do this again. As a real date.”

Dean licks his lips, thoughtful, and Cas watches him with hungry eyes. “A real date, huh? You gonna show up at my studio apartment in your Ferrari?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Dean hesitates, and Cas’s stomach drops. He doesn’t put himself out there often — or ever. There’s no point with who he is and what he does. The mask comes first; the family comes first. But Dean makes him want to be selfish. Dean makes him _want_.

He’s terrified Dean doesn’t want him the same way.

“Okay,” Dean says, after a pause that feels like ages. His expression is guarded, but he lets Cas kiss him on the cheek, saying “Thank you. I’m sorry to rush out, but I’ve got to get home. Jack’s been sick, and—”

“No worries. I’ll stay here, have a few more drinks. Enjoy the view.” Dean gives him a small smile, laces their hands together and squeezes Cas’s before letting go. “You’ve got my number.”

“I’ll text you.” Cas walks backwards, not ready to let Dean out of his sight. He’s so beautiful, backlit by the bar lights.

“You’d better pick me up in your coolest car,” Dean says with a smirk as Cas disappears into the stairwell. His heart pounds all the way out the door, keeps pounding as he rushes into a back alley and pulls out his phone to call Claire.

“I saw it,” she answers. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

///

Mills is smoking on the rooftop when Cas and Claire arrive. She flips off the Halo signal and grinds the cigarette stub out under her heel at the same time.

“Halo, Divinity.” She glances between them. “Where’s Nephilim?”

“Injured in an attack by Hellfire,” Cas says. With the help of Grace’s distortion, he doesn’t need to work to keep his voice level. “He’s recuperating.”

Mills shoves her hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m afraid we might need all the Angels for this.”

“What’s going on, Commissioner?” Claire asks.

Mills walks over to the wall behind the Halo signal and picks up a manila folder. She holds it up as she says, “One of my undercover officers obtained photos of a few known members of the MacLeod crime gang at the docks. The MacLeods are infamous in Scotland, but I’ve never heard of them coming to America before. I don’t know what they want or why they’re here. My undercover isn’t in a position to get close to them without compromising his own investigation. I’m assuming this is either a lead you’re willing to chase or are already chasing.”

“We saw Gavin MacLeod entering Browns’ Club tonight,” Claire says. “He met with Dick Roman.”

Mills purses her lips together. “Of course. They’re the buyers for whatever shipments Hellfire’s been stealing?”

“It’s highly probable,” Cas says.

“I see.” Mills starts to pace, clutching the folder in hand. “Well, it doesn’t make this any less complicated, that’s for sure.”

Cas tilts his head. There’s something else, something she hasn’t told them yet. “This isn’t just about the MacLeods, is it?”

Mills shakes her head, holding out the folder as she passes by him. Cas takes it from her. “Take a look at these photos. Tell me who you see.”

Cas opens the folder. There’s no light on the rooftop, but his Grace allows him to make out the photo’s contents easily. A shipping container at the docks, surrounded by men he mostly doesn’t recognize with a few exceptions. There’s Gavin MacLeod, gesturing wildly at Roman’s people. There’s one of Roman’s top henchmen, Edgar Ramirez, arms folded with a distinctly unimpressed look on his face. And—

_The woman is important. This much Cas knows. Even Alastair shuts up when she enters the room. She walks up to the cage, hands on her hips, surveying their prisoners._

_“Azazel said you could keep one?” she asks Alastair, skeptical._

_“Both for now,” he responds in the tilting lisp which haunts Cas’s nightmares. “One for good. He thinks we need a live body to give back to Halo.”_

_Cas hears the whimper from his cellmate. He wishes he could reach through the bars and choke Alastair to death. He can’t. He’s shackled and warded and useless. The woman stares at him._

_“You already know which one Daddy wants back,” she says. “So kill the spare and be done with it.”_

_Then she walks away as casually as if she’d ordered a drink and not the death of a human being. “You’re no fun, Dagon!” Alastair calls after her in sing-song. “No fun at all!” He turns back to the cage and smiles. His teeth are stained yellow. His eyes are white. “Don’t worry. No one’s dying yet. We’re going to have fun, boys.”_

“Halo? Halo!”

Cas almost drops the photograph. Claire takes it from him, eyes sharp and worried as they rove over his face.

“That’s impossible,” he says, and Mills watches him carefully. “The Demons were rooted out, destroyed by the original Halo. She can’t be…”

“So it is Dagon,” Mills says.

“Dagon?” Claire asks, and Mills responds as if by rote, “A yellow-eyed Demon. Very rare. Extremely powerful.”

“And she’s here?”

“She’s here,” Mills confirms. “There have been rumors ever since Hellfire showed up that the few remaining Demons would be coming out of hiding, ready to take on a new challenger. I don’t buy that — the yellow-eyed Demons were never like the others, mad dogs chasing their tails. They do things with purpose. They haven’t cared who ran Purgatory since Azazel disappeared years ago. Why would they care about Hellfire?”

“They care about getting paid. It’s Roman,” Cas says, seething. “If they’re back, it’s because Roman paid them enough to coax them out, to get them to protect him from Hellfire. That’s why she’s standing next to Edgar, not the MacLeods. Dagon is powerful, but she’s a fighter, not a strategist. She’s muscle. She wouldn’t crawl out from her hole without holding Azazel’s hand unless someone made it worth her while.”

“I take it you know her personally, then.”

“I knew her.” Cas’s Grace spreads throughout his body, itching for a fight. “She helped kill a friend of mine.”

He feels Claire staring at him, but he ignores her. She knows about the Demons as a crime syndicate, but she doesn’t know what they did to him. What they made him watch. What they turned him into.

“We might need the Trinity,” Mills says. “I mean no offense to your new recruits—” She spares a quick glance toward Claire. “—but I remember the last time the Demons were in this city. If there are more of them with her, she might not be content taking orders from Roman for long. We know what happened the last time a Demon decided they owned Purgatory.”

“Halo ran them out.” Cas shakes his head, agitated. “And we’ll do it again. The Trinity is permanently disbanded. I’ll handle this myself.”

If there’s a god out there (and Cas isn’t convinced there is), he laughs in Cas’s face. As soon as he’s said those overconfident words, an earth-shattering _boom_ rocks downtown, followed by screams Cas can hear from blocks away.

Jody’s scanner and cell phone start to go off, as do Claire’s. He’s not listening to the muffled radio static. He can see the smoke rising, and it’s coming from the edge of the warehouse district, near the Galaxy bar.

It’s coming from the area where he just left Dean.


	9. Bus Full of Innocents

The emergency vehicles are forming a sort of blockade, jammed bumper to bumper in the streets and across the sidewalks. Their red and blue lights create a strobe effect, like the dive bar district is now a giant outdoor club. The police Chargers are at the front, a solid wall of muscle car blocking the road, while the ambulances wait in the back, their crews standing next to their still-running vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Mills demands of one of the paramedics as they approach the scene. “Why aren’t you setting up a triage for the victims?”

The paramedic, not expecting a face full of angry police commissioner, stammers, “Ma— Ma’am, we don’t even know if there are any victims. Your officers—” He almost looks as though he wants to cry when Mills’ frown deepens. “Ma’am, they won’t let us near the scene.”

Mills takes off at a fast clip, shoving her way through the crowd of paramedics with Cas and Claire at her heels. She sees the officer she’s looking for, huddled behind a squad car, and beelines for him, yelling “Lieutenant Walker!” Cas recognizes Gordon Walker, a lieutenant from the city’s 11th precinct. They’ve run into each other on a few cases. He’s an asshole who hates vigilantes, and his face contorts into a grimace when he spots Cas and Claire following Mills.

“Commissioner,” he says, clipped and hardly courteous.

“Where’s Captain Hanscum?” she demands, searching the crowd.

“On vacation, ma’am. Went home to Minnesota for the week. I’m the lead here, unless of course you’d like to take over.” Gordon manages to deliver this speech while glaring over Mills’ shoulder at Cas.

“I might,” Mills says in a tone of voice that makes it clear she’s not to be messed with. “Why the hell are you all hiding back here, Lieutenant?”

“Because the Demons set off the bomb to get our attention, ma’am,” Walker says, and he points to a solitary city bus sitting in the now empty street. “And now they’ve taken hostages in that bus, and they’re threatening to kill them all if we come any closer.”

Cas looks at the bus, a standard Purgatory Rapid Transit model. Probably filled with drunken men and women leaving the bars to head home, and now it’s the center of a hostage negotiation.

“What do they want?” Mills asks. “Who’s been in contact?”

“The negotiator’s over there.” Walker jerks his head toward a man in plain clothes covered by a black bullet-proof vest. “They told him they only want Hellfire.” His eyes find Cas’s. “Maybe Halo would do in a pinch. We could always ask.”

“No,” Mills says, while at the same time Cas growls, “I can talk to them if need be.”

“No,” Mills repeats. “We can’t just punch our way out of this. Do we know of any injuries related to the bombing?”

Walker shrugs. “The crowd running from the blast said it looked like it detonated in an abandoned building, but this is the closest we’ve gotten so it’s impossible to say for certain. We don’t know about injuries on the bus. Don’t even know how many hostages we’re dealing with.”

Mills turns to Cas. “Can you two get close enough to figure that out? Break into buildings, jump from rooftops, I don’t care. We need numbers.”

“Of course.”

Cas and Claire find a building with a fire escape, and from there it’s easy to move down the street, vaulting between roofs with the enhanced agility their Grace affords them. It also affords them heightened senses, and when they get close enough Cas can easily make out the passengers inside the bus.

The bus driver is slumped over, either unconscious or dead. Two men stand near him, their hands on sidearms — Demons or their minions. Cas can’t tell without getting closer. His eyes move over the seated crowd, counting a total of twenty-two passengers. There are two more men with guns at the back of the bus. Toward the front is a woman in a black leather jacket with dark hair. She turns to say something to a passenger, and her eyes flash yellow. Dagon.

“Cas,” Claire says, sounding strangled.

“What?”

Her mouth falls open, then closes, her eyes darting toward the bus and back to him. “You can’t lose it, okay, but—”

“But what?!”

She sighs. “Dean is on the bus.”

_No._ His head whips around, heart in his throat. Sure enough, there’s Dean, sitting in the seat right next to Dagon, hands gesturing wildly while the Demon looks on with something approaching amusement. When the blood rushing in his ears fades, Cas forces himself to listen in with his Grace.

“I’m just saying,” Dean says, “you’re barking up the wrong tree here. Hellfire’s not fucking Robin Hood. He doesn’t care if you blow up a bus in front of the whole town!”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas hisses and Claire says, “Cas…”

“We heard his speech about the oppression of the lower class,” Dagon says, ice in every word. “If he’s going to talk the talk, he’s got to be prepared for the consequences of not walking the walk.” She tilts her head, looking down on Dean like he’s a lesser species. To her he probably is. “The people of this city are chattering. They’re starting to wonder if Halo does enough. If a heavier hand is needed. We’ll give them what they want one way or another. Either Hellfire shows and we kill him, or he doesn’t and his prestige is dead on arrival.”

“And what if you sons of bitches get Halo instead?” Dean asks, and Dagon backhands him. The slap is so vicious it knocks Dean’s head back, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberates in Cas’s ears. Dean reels in his seat.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Dean slurs, and Dagon hits him again. Cas snarls.

Claire says again, louder this time, “Cas!”

Dagon leans down to whisper in the ear Dean’s not holding with his hand, and Cas wants to jump out of his skin. “Then we’ll kill him, too.”

“I have to get down there.” He starts to pace, mind racing. “Right now.”

“Uh, no,” Claire says. “We have to think this through, like _you_ always say. You go down there, you could get him killed.”

“If I stay here his huge mouth is going to get him killed!”

“Cas,” Claire warns, “you always tell me not to be reckless. Now I’m telling you — this is a hostage situation, not a brawl with a bunch of oily, knucklehead mafiosos. And I don't know much about Demons, but I know they have powers, too. Mills is right. We can’t punch our way through it! I know you care about him, but we need to come up with—”

“I’m not letting him die again!” Cas explodes, Grace flaring in his eyes, and Claire takes a step back. She’s never looked at him like that before. Like she’s scared.

“What do you mean, ‘letting him die _again_?’” she asks, and he realizes his mistake.

He’s never told her. He’s never told Jack. Anna and Balthazar don’t even know all of it. Every bit of his time with the Demons is locked in a cage in his mind, like the cage they locked the two of them in. And Dean’s been wrenching the cage open, bit by bit. Cas knows why he wants to tell Dean everything, despite his occupation and his disdain and his harsh words; he knows why he means so much to Cas already. He reminds Cas of someone he lost. Someone he refused to think about for the past fifteen years, someone he buried in his heart and in his mind because if he didn’t he would go insane. Someone the Demons murdered in front of him, and it’s _happening again_.

He leaps off the roof. His wings catch his fall, but Claire still shrieks, shocked and dismayed. “Who’s reckless now?” she screams, but he ignores her.

He lands just outside of the bus. They see him. Of course they see him. His suit glows under the streetlight, his wings arched high above him. Dagon spots him. She smiles.

_“The heir and the spare,”_ she’d said to him once, her nails digging into his cheek. It was the last thing she said to him before she left them with Alastair. _“If it were up to me, we’d let the dog kill you instead of him.”_ Cas had begged and begged. _“Take me, take me, take me. Please, kill me instead.”_ She’d laughed as she walked away.

His whole body revolts at the thought of begging her again. She has no heart. No soul. Only Corruption. Her smile is as dead as her yellow eyes. She knows who he is — not the man who is Halo, but the boy who followed the real Halo. The sidekick. The pawn.

“Shield,” she says as the other Demons open the door and let him on the bus. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

He tries to control his rage. “Same here. It’s Halo now, by the way.”

“A promotion. Mmm. They grow up so fast.” Her eyes flicker from yellow to brown as she looks him over. “I’ve been promoted, too, you know.”

“I don’t care,” he says. It’s probably not smart to start off by antagonizing her, but he can’t help it.

“Rude.” She scoffs. “What _do_ you care about?”

He doesn’t miss the way her hand comes to rest on the back of Dean’s seat. He refuses to look at Dean. He can’t give himself away. “Negotiations,” he says, clipped. “Would you take me instead of Hellfire? He’s clearly not coming. And I’ve been your enemy much, much longer.”

Dagon’s mouth turns down in a considering smirk. “True. It’s more personal for you, too, I’d imagine. But you’re not even the Halo I’d want.”

He’s sure Mills and Claire are both screaming at him now, cursing his name, but Cas sees an opportunity here. If he can keep her talking, he can create a distraction for Claire to take advantage of.

“I’m the only Halo,” he says, knowing what Dagon will say.

“Wrong.” Dagon shakes a finger at him. “The _real_ Halo drove us underground, scattered us to the wind. _Murdered_ Azazel.” The passengers collectively shift at this. They don’t know. Cas made sure no one knew, because Halo doesn’t kill. It’s part of the mystique. And it’s a lie. Chuck ripped Azazel apart, and Cas watched with a relish he never wants to feel again. “For over a decade we’ve been forced to hide on other continents, hitch our rides to lesser criminals. Not anymore. We’ve been invited back in, and Hellfire’s arrival has made it clear this time there’s no _real_ Halo around to drive us back out.” She holds her arms out wide. “We’ve come to take our rightful place at the top of the food chain, and to remind Hellfire — and _you_ — who really runs Purgatory. Because Daddy is gone, Shield.” Her eyes flash back to yellow, and Cas readies himself for a blast of Corruption. “And you’re a poor substitute.”

“You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of,” he says, and his Grace throbs through him. 

“I know exactly who you are, just like I know who Halo was,” Dagon responds. “I could start dropping names,” and the passengers shift in their seats, wide eyed, “but I like watching you sweat. You’re cute when you’re scared.” Cas scowls. “Do you remember what happened the last time we had you in our care? You were so _weak_. And you’ll fold again, won’t you…” She smiles a sickly smile, and he realizes what she’s about to do. “Mr. N—”

He cuts her off with a blast of Grace to the head. Dagon reels, blood dripping from her nose, and Cas’s hand stays up and at the ready.

He knows he’s lost his edge lately. He thinks about Claire and Jack every time he jumps into a fray. He thinks about what happens to them if he dies, or — far worse — what happens to him if they do. It makes him sloppy, like in the warehouse against Hellfire. In a fight you either give it your all or you give nothing. He used to be so good at giving his all. He used to only think in attacks and counter-attacks. He used to live in the moment. Now he lives with one foot in the future. _What if something happens to them? I can’t survive it this time. I can’t do it again; I can’t lose anyone else._

What if. What if. What if.

When Dagon holds up her hands to strike back, Cas’s eyes should be locked on his opponent. Instead they slide to Dean. _What if I can’t protect him?_ Dean’s looking back at him, wide-eyed, and all Cas sees is green.

Before Dagon can strike, the whole bus begins to vibrate and the windows begin to break as a high-pitched ringing noise fills the air around them. The demons collapse to their knees, smoke — Corruption, inky black and filthy — pouring out of their eyes and ears. The human passengers cover their ears and scream. Their noses gush blood. Dean’s head is crushed between his legs, hidden under the jacket he’s pulled up over himself for flimsy protection. Cas can’t see his face.

Claire is doing her best to save the day. And if Cas doesn’t reach her soon, she might kill them all.

Grace is a complicated power, and it takes many forms. Usually it fits neatly inside a human body, controllable in short bursts of energy with concentrated effort. An expert user can start to warp Grace, manipulate it to do other things beyond telekinesis — sensory heightening, physical healing, even short-range teleportation in extremely rare cases. When you lose control over it — or let loose of it — it will try to escape your body. Uncontrolled Grace can flatten cities. Chuck used to warn them against letting go. “When you get very, very angry or upset,” he said, “it will burst out of you if you let it. It can kill others. It can kill you. You have to master it. You have to shape it. Don’t let it shape you.”

Claire is letting go.

Cas sees her outside the bus. More accurately, he sees the vague outline of her. Her Grace has escaped her, and the glow as it surrounds Claire is blinding. It’s consuming her, buzzing around her in a force field so strong Cas wonders if he can get through it.

He has to try.

The ringing is painful even to him the closer he gets, fighting his way through the concussive waves emanating from Claire. It’s like swimming against the tide. For every step he takes, her Grace tries to force him back two. He digs in his heels, strains with his own Grace to push back, push back. He’s not going to be able to reach her in time.

“Divinity!” he screams. “Take it back!” He never taught her how to do this. He doesn’t know how to teach her to undo it. “Bring it back to you!”

Claire’s whole being vibrates. Cas doesn’t think she’s strong enough to decimate this entire city, but she’s definitely strong enough to decimate all of downtown. “Divinity!” This can’t go on much longer. The humans can’t take much more. First they’ll lose their hearing. Then they’ll go blind. Then their organs will burst in their bodies and they’ll die. The Demons will follow. Cas will die after them, and Claire will die last.

He has no choice, but he makes one anyway — her pain over all of theirs. Cas raises a hand (it’s nearly impossible, the current is so strong) and lets his own Grace overwhelm him, all directed at her.

Chuck showed him how to do this before Cas became Halo, but after the Demons took him. “It’s all about control,” he’d said, standing on a beach in Greece, so close to their final goal. “You let it out, but you keep the lightest grasp on it so you can reel it right back in. You think of something, someone to ground you so you don’t forget. So you don’t think Grace is all that exists. If you forget, then it will take over. And you’re dead.”

So Cas knocks Claire off her feet in a whirlwind of Grace, and a moment later he thinks of her and pulls the hurricane back in.

The ringing stops. Claire is sprawled out on the ground, and Cas runs to her. Her nose is bleeding. He takes her face, cradles it between his palms. She’s breathing. Her eyes flutter open. “D—Dad?”

He breathes out, and it feels like a drowning man’s first gasp of air when he breaches the surface. “Darling.” Cas never calls her that, because Jimmy called her that. It’s his, and Cas takes it from him and ruins it, like he took his little girl and turned her into a bomb. Cas rubs his thumb over her cheek and hates himself. “I need you to stay right here, okay?” She nods, blinking sluggishly. “I promise I will be right back for you. I just have to make sure the others are alright.”

Laying her back down on the cold sidewalk and turning away is anathema to him. He does it anyway. He has never understood Chuck as much as he does in this moment when he leaves his injured daughter to run into a bus full of strangers.

And Dean. For a moment, he’d forgotten. For a moment, all he could think of was Claire. But there’s someone else he cares about on this street, and Cas almost drops to his knees when he enters the bus and finds everyone in it keeled over.

He runs to Dean first, stepping over a prone Demon on the way. Cas is only human, after all, and to him Dean is the most important person on this bus. He pulls on Dean’s jacket, the same jacket he’d clutched in his hands as they kissed, yanking it away from Dean’s head. Dean looks up at him. Cas could faint in relief.

Slowly he pries Dean’s hands from his ears, resisting the urge to wipe the blood off his upper lip. “Can you hear me?” Cas asks, and Dean nods, yells, “It’s muffled!” Cas looks up. The other passengers, realizing the noise is gone, are starting to move their curled hands away from their ears, nervously looking around the bus. Cas realizes the Demons are moving, too.

“Get out!” he yells as loudly as he can, waving his arms toward the exits. The passengers take a moment to recognize what he’s trying to say and then they bolt, fear in their eyes and blood on their faces. One Demon reaches out for a fleeing woman, and Cas knocks him down easily. He scans the bus for Dagon, but she’s gone. She left her minions behind.

Dean doesn’t leave the bus with the rest. He follows Cas down the aisle, helping urge the other passengers out with gentle hands. “Go, go!” he yells, half-deaf himself, and Cas wants to kiss him. When another Demon stands and tries to block their way, Dean punches him in the face before Cas can lift a hand, and then Cas wants to both kiss _and_ kill him.

“You now!” he yells, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and pushing him out the door. The police and the paramedics are running down the street, and Cas urges Dean toward them with a hand on his back. “Go, Dean!”

He realizes his mistake the moment the word leaves his mouth. Cas hopes Dean didn’t hear him, but Dean turns back in mid-step. He blinks at Cas, and something like recognition crosses his face just as a paramedic swoops in and wraps him in a blanket.

Cas turns and runs the opposite direction, back toward Claire and away from the man who now knows exactly who he is.


	10. The Reveal

They give him two days to mope and hide in his room before they send in the big guns.

“Are you planning on drinking yourself to death?” Ellen asks as she barges through the door of his private living room. “Or can you even do that with Grace?” She picks up an empty wine bottle with the tips of two fingers, holding it as if it’s a pair of his dirty underwear.

“Leave me alone,” Cas mumbles into the couch pillow. He could drink himself to death, given time and copious amounts of liquor, but that’s not his intention. He’s just drinking to forget that he’s let both of his children get injured _and_ let a reporter know he’s Halo all within the span of two weeks.

“If he hasn’t gone public by now, maybe he doesn't plan to,” Ellen says, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair. She used to do this when he was a kid, sick and lonely and in need of a parent. She had her own daughter to tend to back then, but she still came to see Cas when he needed her. “And would it be the worst thing in the world if they knew who they had to thank for defending this city time and again?”

He lifts his head to say, “I don’t do this to be thanked.”

“I know.” She sighs. “You do it because you have too much heart.”

Cas stiffens. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Ellen says, “until it gets you killed.”

“No use trying to talk him out of it,” says a voice from the doorway. Anna stands there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she has bags under her eyes. Claire and Jack are behind her. Claire’s tremors have faded, and her skin is back to its normal color. Jack helped heal her, even though he’s still trying to heal his own legs. He’s in a wheelchair, leaning around Claire’s legs to look into Cas’s suite.

“Is this an intervention?” Cas jokes half-heartedly. No one laughs.

“We need to talk about the Demons,” Anna says, “and about what we’ll do if that reporter outs you as Halo.”

“Ah, the two topics I want to discuss the least.” He sits up, head reeling for a moment before he gets his equilibrium back. Too much alcohol, and even Grace can’t protect him from a hangover. “The Demons are back and we need to defeat them. Again. If he tells the world I’m Halo, I’ll deny it. Is that all?”

“You’re a hypocrite, you know,” Claire bites out. Her cheeks are flushed red with anger. “You accuse us of being rash, and yet the moment he’s in danger you lose your goddamn mind.”

“Claire,” Ellen and Anna say at the same time in warning tones, but she pays them no attention. “You need to tell us everything you know about the Demons.” Claire looks at Anna. “You too. Because I know you’re both hiding something from me and Jack. You know Dagon. You clearly knew their other leader, Azazel or whatever. And I want to know what Cas meant when he said he couldn’t let Dean die again.”

Ellen’s hand drops from Cas’s shoulder. Cas’s heart sinks as he faces her. She’s gone pale as his sheets. “What did you just say?”

Claire is caught off guard by this reaction. Anna places a hand on her elbow, and Claire looks between them, unsure. “Cas— Cas said he wouldn’t let Dean die again?”

Ellen’s hands clench into fists. “The reporter… his name is Dean?”

“Yes,” Cas says, uneasy. “You were with me when we saw the interview he did with Mick Davies. I thought you knew.”

“I missed his introduction,” Ellen whispers. Tears are gathering at the edges of her eyes. “What a hell of a coincidence that is.” She laughs bitterly.

“Ellen—” Cas starts, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“No.” She stands up, brushing off his reaching hands. “I’ve lived through this before. Demons, Dean, you. All of it. It’s a bad sign, Castiel.”

“Wait,” says Jack from the back of the doorway, ever the lost lamb. “Who’s the other Dean?”

_No one anymore,_ Cas wants to say, but he can’t get the words out. _Someone who died because of me_. Claire is right — he should tell the truth, the whole truth. But he just can’t.

Ellen shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes. “I can’t talk about this,” she says, pushing past the small crowd at the door. She turns back before she goes, points her finger at Anna, then Cas. “I can’t lose another one of you. So you think about that before you make your big, heroic plans.”

  
She leaves, her footsteps falling heavy as she walks down the hallway.

“What the hell?” Claire asks, but she sounds scared rather than belligerent. Ellen never cries. She never complains about their jobs. Claire’s never seen her as anything but their rock, their steady ground. “What’s going on?”

“Who’s the other Dean?” Jack demands again, and Cas feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin when Anna says, “Our family isn’t the only family with Grace. We weren’t the only ones who fought with your grandfather.”

He can’t listen to this. He can’t relive this.

Cas stands up so quickly he almost knocks the couch over. He swipes a half-empty bottle of gin from the side table and walks straight into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He stays there, sitting on his bed and drinking, long after Anna stops trying to convince him to come back out.

///

Hours have passed when she tries again. Her knock this time is louder, much more insistent, still their “code” (two short knocks, one long one) but somehow angry.

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” he calls back, words somewhat slurred. “Come on in, the water’s gin.” He holds up his bottle and wishes he could laugh.

“The good shit is wasted on you.”

The voice isn’t Anna’s, and the figure in the dark doorway isn’t Anna, either. Dean steps into the room. He looks around, takes in Cas’s massive California king, the marble floors and thick bearskin rug, the gilded chaise lounge that’s likely worth more than his studio apartment. Cas’s eyes start to prickle. He wants to cry. He’s embarrassed, ashamed, angry and heartbroken, and all those feelings are at war.

Dean walks over to the bed and sits down next to Cas without an invitation. “Why are you so drunk?”

“How did you get in?” Cas counters.

Dean shakes his head. “You always ask me that,” he mutters. “Claire let me in.”

_She would,_ Cas thinks. “Shouldn’t you be working on a story? You’ve just snagged the biggest scoop of all time. I thought you’d have run with it by now.”

“What would that scoop be?” Dean asks quietly. Dean isn’t quiet. Cas wishes he wouldn’t be quiet now, wishes he would yell at Cas for lying to him or for being a billionaire or for letting him get hurt. He wants to touch the bandage over Dean’s ear from where Dagon hit him, but he doesn’t dare.

“I’m Halo,” he whispers. Tears form in his eyes. Chuck always said never to tell anyone, and Cas didn’t. His family knew because they had to. The few friends he’s made, the few tentative romantic attachments he’s formed all died on the vine because Cas lives a double life and he _likes_ it. He never wanted anyone to know the truth until he met Dean.

“It explains a lot,” Dean says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Cas laughs, but it’s bitter and tear-tinged.

“It explains nothing,” he replies. “And now that you know, your life will always be at risk. Anyone who knows gets hurt. That’s how this works.”

“I’ve been hurt already,” Dean points out, and somehow Cas knows he’s not just talking about the other night in the bus. “So why don’t you explain it to me.”

It’s too late to stop what’s already been set in motion. The truth train has left the station, and Cas is too drunk to jump off now.

“My father was Halo,” he says, focusing so he doesn’t slur too much. He’s drunk, but not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. He stares at the rumpled bed sheets as he continues, “The original Halo. He was born with Grace. He witnessed his parents’ murder when he was teenager, and after that he decided to hone his Grace — to train himself to use it as a weapon and not just as a party trick. He got... very, very good at it. And so he decided to take down men like his parents’ killer as a vigilante.”

Cas has often wondered what Chuck was like before they met him, if he was ever purely idealistic or always jaded. He’ll never know. “As he got older, he realized he couldn’t fight crime alone forever. He started searching for other children with Grace to adopt — searching for children like me. He started with five and ended with three — well, I suppose two if you take into account that he disowned Balthazar. My father was terrible with children, as I’ve said before.” Cas laughs bitterly. Dean does not. “But we aren’t the only ones born with powers, and he couldn’t just adopt every child he wanted. He found other ways to bring more into the fold. He offered their families jobs.”

He thinks of Ellen’s daughter, Jo. She was a little tornado of a girl, all blonde hair and elbows and knobby knees. He thinks of the Winchesters, and his heart twists in his chest.

“There were three of them,” he says quietly, “and only one is still alive.”

Dean tenses next to him. Cas wants to hold him. He wants to forget any of this ever happened. He forces himself to keep talking.

“Ellen came first with her daughter, Jo. Jo had Grace, but not enough. Chuck lost interest in her by the time she was ten, much to her mother’s relief. By then he had his sights set on two boys — Sam and…” His throat closes up, and he swallows hard. “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“I see,” Dean says softly, as if he could possibly see. His face is blank, unreadable, but Cas knows what he must be thinking: _this is why you care about me._ He wants to tell Dean _yes, but so much more._

“Chuck wanted Sam,” Cas says. Now he needs to explain it all, every last bit. “He was only ten when my father hired theirs to be his handyman, but we could tell from the moment we saw him how powerful he could be.” Grace radiates from some people. Cas remembers he and his siblings watching Sam run to the Winchesters’ new home, a cottage in the back corner of the manor’s grounds. Grace surrounded him like a glow only they could see. “But John, their father, refused to let Sam train with us. He was too young, John said. He didn’t want Sam to get hurt. So he sent Dean instead.”

Cas was seventeen when Dean started to train with the Shurley siblings. He didn’t have the power his brother did and Chuck wasn’t interested in working with the boy personally, so he dumped him on Anna. She was too busy with her gadgets to pay him any attention, and Balthazar was too cruel to be any kind of teacher, so they in turn dumped him on Cas.

Dean was a freckled kid, skinny but with baby fat still in his cheeks. He liked to back talk, but at the same time he was eager to please. He’d insult Cas in one breath and look at him like he was a god in the next. Dean wanted to impress him, and he followed Cas around everywhere like a lost puppy Cas didn’t want. He resented his father for forcing Dean upon them when the Angels were meant to be _family._

“He trained under me because I was older,” Cas says, voice breaking. “I wasn’t kind to him, Dean. I didn’t think he deserved to be one of us. Anna, Balthazar and I were already the Trinity, and I thought that we should be all Chuck needed. I was angry with my father for making us feel inadequate, but I took it out on Dean. I ignored him when I could, spoke sharply when I couldn’t. He just wanted us to be friends, and I saw him as a burden. Then he started to improve, and Chuck started to notice him and it— It made everything worse. I was a complete asshole because I was _jealous_.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. His lips are pressed tightly together, his forehead creased. Cas soldiers on.

“It took years, but when Dean was eighteen and I was twenty-one, Chuck gave us our first solo mission.” His hands are shaking. Cas shoves them under his legs. “He sent us all the way to Greece to look for a Demon stronghold in the country. I still don’t know why he picked us, or why he didn’t come with us or send Anna and Balthazar, too. Maybe he thought it wasn’t dangerous. Maybe he knew it was and didn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Those first few weeks in Greece felt like freedom he’d never known. Cas remembers lounging on the beach with Dean, soaking up sun and eating honeyed yogurt and feeling like a college kid on spring break with a friend. He wanted it to be real. He didn’t want there to be a mission. He wanted to feel normal for once.

“We didn’t look that hard for the stronghold,” he confesses. “I didn’t want to, and Dean wouldn’t go off without me. We acted like it was a vacation, goofed off at the beach every day. I had _fun_ for the first time in my life.” Cas closes his eyes. “Dean made it fun. He could make anything into a game, could make a joke out of any situation. I realized I actually liked him when I wasn’t being forced to do drills with him. He was—” Cas has never talked about Dean Winchester to anyone. He barely remembers his face or his voice, but he remembers how Dean made him _feel._ He doesn’t know how to put it into words. “He was insouciant and irreverent and charming. He _shone_ when there was no one around to try and put out his light.” People like his father or Chuck. Or Cas.

“I wanted to say ‘screw it, let’s never go back.’ Perhaps I would have, given more time.” Cas pauses. “But I doubt it. My father’s claws were still too deep in me, and Dean loved his little brother too much to leave him behind.” Dean breathes in deeply, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Cas feels as if he’s somewhere else, outside his body watching himself finish the story he’s kept locked up for years. It’s the only way he can get through it. “It doesn’t matter either way. A group of Demons caught us in Corfu and took us to their stronghold. Their leader, Azazel, came to Greece just to see us. He decided to use one of us as bait for Chuck. He told us the other would die.” Cas can’t let his mind drag him back there, so digs his nails into his palms and continues on robotically, “He gave us to his head torturer, a Demon named Alastair. Alastair had us for days, just toying with us, before they sent a message to Chuck. They asked which one he’d come rescue. Chuck picked me. He— He told them if they killed me instead, he wouldn’t— He wouldn’t even come for Dean. They’d lose their best chance to trap him.”

There is no escape from the truth, no matter how he runs from it. Chuck picked Cas, and Dean died for it.

“I—I told them to kill me instead. They all laughed at me. ” He forces air out through his mouth, tries to keep going. “Alastair—” It doesn’t matter how disconnected Cas wants to be. He’s shaking, stuttering. Tears stream down his face. Dean’s hand twitches but doesn’t reach for him. Maybe he doesn’t know if he can. Cas struggles to block out the screams in his head. “Alastair took an iron pipe and— and _he_ _beat Dean to death in front of me_. He laughed the whole time. I was screaming my head off and Dean was— and Alastair was _laughing._ I don’t know remember what Dean’s laugh sounds like anymore, but I remember fucking _Alastair’s._ ”

Cas loses it then. He collapses in on himself, heaving sobs like he’s going to lose a lung, gasping for breath. Dean doesn’t hesitate any longer. He’s wrapped around Cas in an instant, bearing down on him as he covers Cas’s torso with his own, whispering in Cas’s ear, “It’s not your fault, Cas; it’s not your fault.” Cas wants to scream.

“I shouldn’t have lived!” he sobs, and it comes out a garbled mess. Dean rocks him, shushes him, but all the guilt he’s dammed up for years comes spilling forth. “I brought him there, I fucked around and got him killed! It should have been me! It should have been me!”

“Don’t,” Dean says, and Cas thinks his voice is breaking, too. “Don’t say that. Don’t. Please don’t.”

They stay huddled like that, Cas crying and Dean holding him, until Cas falls asleep.

///

Cas wakes and it’s still dark outside. For a moment he’s disorientated. He’s lying in his bed on his side, and there’s something heavy slung over his waist, something pressing at his back. When did he go to bed? His head hurts and his mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with one of Jack’s dirty socks. He shifts, trying to dislodge the weight around him.

“Cas,” a familiar voice murmurs at his back. He can feel the puff of breath at the nape of his neck. “It’s 3 a.m. Please go back to sleep.”

He remembers everything. Cas snaps to turn the bedside lamp on and rolls over. Dean groans, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice is sleepy and rough. He peeks at Cas with one eye slanted open.

“Thank you.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth lifts a little. Cas touches it with the tip of his pointer finger. “You’re welcome,” Dean says. “You know, I don’t spend the night with just anybody.”

“Oh.”

“By that I mean I don’t spend the night with anybody ever.” Dean’s eye falls closed. “So you’re pretty special I guess.” He’s already drifting back to sleep. Cas snaps to turn the light off.

“I don’t tell anyone the truth about me,” he whispers, unsure if Dean is awake to hear. “So you’re pretty special, too.”


	11. Secret Keeper

The next time Cas wakes there’s a thin beam of light falling across the bottom of the bed. He groans as he sits up, head pounding, and glares accusingly at the empty liquor bottles on his bedside table.

He’s alone in bed, but the sheets next to him are depressed in the vague shape of a body and the balcony door is cracked. The curtains are pushed back by the open door, allowing the too-bright sliver of morning light in. Cas tries to call for Dean, but his throat is parched. He swallows and his saliva tastes of alcohol. Cas grimaces. He badly needs to brush his teeth.

“No.” Dean’s voice is coming from the balcony. Cas wonders who he’s talking to. “I’m not saying call it off… I know! But I didn’t think it would go this way, okay?… No… So we adjust! We’re not done until I say we’re done.”

Cas lets his legs dangle off the side of the bed. He hesitantly calls, “Dean?”

“I gotta go.” Dean’s head pops in through the doorway a moment later. His phone is in his hand. “Cas, man, I wasn’t sure you’d be getting up at all this morning.” His tone is forcefully cheerful, but his eyes seem worried as they rove over Cas’s face.

“I feel like I’ve been put through a blender,” Cas confesses. He props his aching head in one hand. “And I smell like a liquor store.”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“Let me…” He gestures toward the ensuite master bath as he stands on unsteady feet. “I’ll just shower, and then I can get us breakfast before you go to work if you want.”

“Okay,” Dean says. He sits on the bed, hesitating as if he’s unsure of his welcome. Cas wants to kiss him but he really does reek, so instead he promises, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He rushes through his shower and the rest of his morning routine, not bothering to put on his suit or even to dry his hair. Cas comes out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and boxers, wet hair sticking up in every direction. He sits next to Dean on the bed, and the few inches between them feel like miles.

“So,” Dean says after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “You’re Halo.”

“I’m Halo.” Cas stares at his hands. “Or I’m Shield pretending to be Halo.”

Dean shifts on the bed. “I’m not gonna write about this, Cas. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“I’m not,” Cas says, surprised to find it’s true. If Dean wanted to out him as Halo it would already be in the morning paper. “I trust you. I don’t know why you’d trust me, though.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Cas feels Dean’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up.

“Because,” he says, frustrated tears blurring the edges of his vision, “I’m a screw-up, Dean.You should know that already, and I haven't even told you everything. I can’t keep anyone I care about safe. I couldn’t save Dean, but that’s not all of it — Ellen’s daughter Jo died, too. She was a bartender in the warehouse district, and she got shot her first week on the job by some sleazebag she tried to bounce. The Angels weren’t there to save her.” Dean takes a deep breath. “My father went off the rails after Dean died, and I couldn’t help him. Claire and Jack have both been injured while I’ve been chasing Hellfire and the Demons. I don’t want this responsibility anymore! I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Then leave it,” Dean says, as if it were so simple. “Get rid of the mask, Cas. You can do just as much good without it. Probably more.”

“I can’t walk away.” That’s the crux of it. His father handed him the burden of Halo, and even a decade later as he’s crushed by it, Cas can’t find the strength to shove it off. Dean sighs. Cas wishes he could find the courage to look at him. “It would almost be a relief,” he says, “to have you expose me. Then I wouldn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Dean says. “You’re just afraid to make it. And I’m not going to make it for you.”

“Maybe Dagon, will, then.” Cas doubts it, though. She’s not interested in him right now. She made it clear the Demons are back to take on Hellfire, and he’s not even the real Halo to them. Dagon will hold her knowledge of his identity over his head as a sort of bargaining chip, the way Azazel tried to with Chuck before his father murdered him. “I just— I can’t.” _Because I’m a coward_ , he thinks but doesn’t say.

Silence falls. Cas wishes he were a different man, that he’d met Dean in a different way. He remembers wishing the same back in Corfu when it came to Dean Winchester. He’d finally looked at Dean not as a rival but as a friend and wondered, _what if we really were college kids on spring break? What if he was some smartass freshman and I was the asshole senior but we got along when we got to know each other outside of class? What if I had the guts to make a move?_ What if. What if. What if.

What if he’d been born without Grace, never noticed by Chuck? What if he’d never met either Dean, never felt changed irrevocably by either one of them?

“Do you think that’s why you’re interested in me?” Dean asks after a while. “Because deep down you wanted me to find out and tell the world you’re Halo? Or is it because I share a name with him?”

“No,” Cas says vehemently, and he forces himself to look Dean in the eye. “Neither. I— You do remind me of him in some ways. I’ll admit sometimes I look at you and find it harder to breathe for it, but that’s not—”

“Did you love him?” Dean interrupts.

Cas doesn’t know what to say other than, “Not until it was too late.”

“I’m not him, Cas,” Dean says. His eyes are dark and haunted. “Don’t make me out to be him.”

Cas blows a breath out through his mouth, waves one hand in the air. “It’s not like that, it’s— Listen, you infuriate me and fascinate me in equal measure. You’re charming and intelligent and you _care._ Deeply.” Dean shifts, uncomfortable with the praise. Cas presses on. “You inspire me to be better. Before all this, I wanted nothing but to know you more.” He pauses. “You’re a good man. I care about you too much, and people I care about get hurt.”

Dean says, “‘Before all this…’ Is this you trying to push me away?” and Cas whispers, “Yes.”

There’s clearly a war going on inside Dean’s mind. Cas can see the conflict in his eyes as they shift over Cas’s face, the tension in his curled palms and straight back. Part of him wants to leave here and not look back, and Cas knows it would be better for Dean to run.

Selfishly, Cas wants him to stay.

As if he’s read Cas’s mind, Dean leans in, grabs the back of Cas’s head, and kisses him. Hard. Cas gives in immediately. He’s so tired. Tired of Halo and Roman and Hellfire and the Demons. Tired of worrying constantly about the kids. Tired of fighting his attraction to Dean. Tired of living a life picked for him by someone else. So he lets go, lets Dean push him down onto the bed.

Dean’s kisses are urgent, as if he fears they might not do this again. Cas can’t come up for breath, can’t tell him he’d do this with Dean every day if he could. Won’t tell Dean this terrifies him more than the villains he faces on a nightly basis.

Dean only sits up to let Cas scoot back further on the bed, divesting them both of their shirts at the same time. It leaves Cas in boxers and Dean still in his jeans, and Cas tugs at Dean’s belt, murmurs into his mouth, “I want these off.” Dean obliges, breaking their kiss to kick his jeans off somewhere in the direction of the door. He’s back on Cas in a flash, crawling on top of him and pushing him back down into the sheets.

It wasn’t his intention to sleep with Dean so soon. Cas isn’t great at relationships, and his sexual experience is far from vast. There was the man in Greece, less than a year after Dean Winchester died, and then there was the strange, drunken week with Meg before they annulled their marriage, plus a few one-night stands in between. He’s never been an overtly sexual person, never enjoyed fucking all that much. He’s thought about what it would be like to make love to someone instead, and he imagined he’d never get to experience the distinction. After all, who could he let get that close to him?

Dean knows more about him than almost anyone, and they’ve only known each other for a few weeks. Terror wars with lust and affection, and Dean doesn’t give him the chance to let the terror win. He slips a hand under the waistband of Cas’s boxers and teases at the skin around his groin. Cas mouths at Dean’s neck, and Dean asks, “Are we doin’ this?” All Cas can do his nod, lips bumping against Dean’s skin. Then Dean grips Cas’s cock and starts to stroke.

Cas hadn’t been sure if he could get fully aroused considering the tension filling the room like smoke, but the moment Dean’s hand is on him it’s all he can think about. “Yes,” he breathes out, and Dean laughs, turning his head to capture Cas’s mouth with his while he continues to stroke up and down with a loose fist.

When Dean leans back to pull their boxers off, Cas is too flustered to help, lying there like a starfish stuck on the beach, legs and arms spread, breathless. Luckily, Dean seems to know what he’s doing. He lays back down between Cas’s legs, aligns their groins and begins to roll his hips. Cas, mind half online, runs his hands over Dean’s back up to his shoulders and down to his ass. Then, as Dean braces himself above Cas on his elbows, Cas touches his chest.

He’s startled to see Dean’s body is covered in scars — long, thin lines and thick, gnarled ones — almost as many as Cas’s own. On his right forearm is a particularly nasty looking burn that almost looks like a brand. For a moment, Cas forgets they’re in the middle of having sex. He opens his mouth to ask, “What happened to you?” and Dean, watching Cas’s eyes rove over his blemished skin, leans down to kiss him frantically. Cas lets go again.

Dean’s hips move insistently, but his mouth is gentle against Cas’s. Soft, almost sweet. It’s a contrast to the man’s rugged outer shell, and Cas loves it. Being kissed by Dean feels like coming home.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he comes, and from how relatively little stimulation. In his defense, it’s been a long time, and Dean is the most attractive man Cas has ever seen. In only a few minutes, he’s shuddering Dean’s name, Dean grinning against his throat. “Fuck,” Dean says, “fuck, Cas.” It takes him a bit longer, thrusting against Cas’s hip, but soon a shiver wracks his body and Cas feels Dean’s release on his skin.

Dean rolls over, collapsing on the bed next to Cas and breathing heavily. They both stare at the vaulted ceiling and the obnoxious chandelier, and Cas’s fears are back in full force. How could he let this happen? How could he let it get this far when he knows all he has to offer Dean is a lifetime of pain and worry?

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Dean mutters, lolling his head to the side to face Cas. “I can actually feel you tensing up.”

Cas wants to protest, but Dean’s not wrong. He traces the curves of the crown molding with his eyes, says, “If you get involved with me I’m worried you’ll get hurt.”

Dean sits up, and for a moment Cas thinks he might get laughed at, that Dean will say this didn’t mean anything, that they’re not getting involved. His fists clench in the sheets.

“Cas.” Dean leans over him and catches his eye. “I’ve already been hurt plenty of times in my life.” Cas’s eyes shift to the scars on Dean’s chest. He resists the urge to ask about what Dean clearly isn’t ready to discuss. “And when I leave this room, I’m still gonna keep going after Roman and his connections to the MacLeods and the Demons. You can’t protect me 24/7, and I don’t want a babysitter.” He pauses, gives Cas a painful-looking smile. “Maybe a sexy babysitter.” Cas manages to smile back.

“Be careful,” is all he can say.

“I am,” Dean assures him. “But I’m not the only one putting myself into dangerous situations here. You’re the one practically walking around screaming, ‘Come and fight me, you sons of bitches!’”

Cas knows he could let Dean walk out and this would be it, all they get. He should do that. Yes, he can’t protect Dean from the dangers inherent in his occupation, but he can at least try to protect him from the dangers that follow Halo. But Dean is right — he’s being hypocritical. Assuming Dean feels a tenth of the affection Cas feels for him, he’ll be worried and on edge from here on out as well, thinking about Cas roaming the streets at night as Halo.

So he’s selfish. He says, “I know you have to work today, but would you want to come back here tonight and have dinner with me?”

Dean leans down and kisses his forehead, brushes his sweaty hair away from his face. “Here?” Dean asks as he pulls back. “I’m not super comfortable with the idea of being waited on by your staff.”

“I’ll do all the waiting,” Cas says, grasping Dean’s hand before he can pull away.

“Pining for me already?” Dean teases, and his smile seems more genuine.

“Yes,” Cas admits. “Please. Just us.”

An odd look of longing crosses Dean’s face before he leans down to kiss Cas again, murmuring “Okay, just us,” against his lips.


	12. Heroic Fatigue

Anna and Jack have a rudimentary map spread over the conference table in Headquarters, and Anna is in the middle of marking something on it when Claire and Cas walk in. Jack grins at them, standing up on his new leg braces and waving hello.

“Look at you, sticks,” Claire says, kissing him on the cheek before taking her seat.

“Yeah, I can’t walk just yet, but I think if I focus more on healing the right leg I should be able to ditch the brace and get off crutches in a week or two,” Jack says. “I’ll be back on the streets with you in no time.”

Cas hides his frown behind his coffee mug as he sits down. He wants Jack up and running again, of course, but he wishes his protege wouldn’t rush to get back into field work.

“What have we got?” he asks Anna, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Anna glances up from the map, red marker still in hand. “Well, Jack’s reviewed the audio from the bug Claire planted at Roman’s table. He’s definitely been selling arms to the MacLeods. They were also talking about a product called SucroCorp, but we have no context for that.”

Jack says, “We know Roman’s been using that tunnel from his warehouse for most of the deliveries, because the MacLeods were talking about how Hellfire cut off the ‘sea route’ and how they’d have to worry about you catching them if they tried to send another shipment to the docks via the streets. Gavin MacLeod made it clear his family is pissed about Hellfire stealing the shipments, and Roman said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve hired protection for our the rest of our stock.’”

“Dagon and her crew,” Cas says, and Jack nods. “Yeah. I mean, he didn’t call them by name, but it’s clear he meant the Demons.” Everyone at the table trades uneasy glances, and Cas knows they’re waiting for him to lose it again. He keeps his composure.

“So, is the map of this tunnel?”

“As close as we can get,” Anna says, pushing the map across the table to Cas. “We all know there are a ton of sea caves and tunnels under the city, and not all of them are mapped. I’ve searched old cartographer caches online and at the library the past three days, and I found one that matches the ‘sea route’ Roman and MacLeod were talking about.” She points at the red marks on the map. “It’s from the early 20th century, so things have undoubtedly changed, but the line I’ve worked out goes from a sea cave to right underneath Roman Inc. It’s the closest match I could find.” She meets Cas’s eyes. “I think it’s a good guess Hellfire and crew might be hiding out somewhere in the tunnels, too.”

“Yes, it is.” Cas runs his finger along Anna’s route. “Claire and I can check out the tunnel today, see if we find anything worthwhile.”

“You’ll need to take the boat to get in,” Anna says. “The entrance will be underwater till low tide, so work quickly.” As Cas and Claire stand up to go change into their suits, Anna asks, “Do you want me to leak this audio to Dean Smith?”

All three of them stare at him expectantly. They haven’t mentioned Dean yet, and Cas knows they’re trying to give him space while subtly asking whether Dean is about to make Halo and the Angels public enemy number one.

“Yes,” Cas says. “Send it to him. Make sure it’s encrypted, but tell him it’s a gift from the ‘rich idiot with no day job.’”

Claire is laughing as Cas walks away. “Fuck,” she says, “I might actually like this asshole.”

///

The sea cave entrance is easy to find with Anna’s map, though Cas can see how people would miss it from the ocean. It’s hidden behind a foreboding clump of rocks that seem too close together to navigate around. They manage anyway, anchoring the boat just outside of the rocks and swimming in toward the small, waterlogged beach in front of the cave before high tide hits.

If the smell of salt is strong in the city, it’s overwhelming underground. The damp walls drip salt water on their heads, and they have to wade through a foot of standing water for a quarter mile before the cave elevation rises.

“Ugh,” Claire says, her boots squishing with every step. “I know these are supposed to be waterproof, but they’re not made for full submersion. We need to tell Anna to design scuba gear.”

“We have scuba gear,” Cas points out, “but we don’t need it today.”

“Swim slash hiking gear, whatever.” Claire runs her hand along the cave wall, and it comes away sticky with mud. “How high do you think the tide gets?”

“Lower than this,” Cas assures her. “We’ve been hiking uphill for a while. This tunnel must snake all the way up through the sea cliffs.”

“It’s not as big as the one under our house.” Claire shines her flashlight up and around the cave walls. “Just big enough to get one of those trucks through at a time.”

“It’d suit Roman’s purposes.” Cas scans his own flashlight over the ground. There are tire tracks in deep grooves in the dirt.

“How long do you think he’s been doing this under our noses?”

Cas doesn’t like to think about it. It makes him pissed off — at himself, mostly. Roman always struck him as a man too interested in politics to make the mistake of doing something as obviously illegal as arms smuggling. Tax fraud? That was a crime he could see Roman committing. War profiteering? Maybe, but not so directly as this. He heard the rumors and he put them off until Hellfire came along, choosing to focus on the crime he could see happening right in front of him — the would-be rapists and street gangs and bank robbers. He needed to go after them, too, but he knows he should have devoted more time to investigating Roman. When he first became Halo he would have been all over this case. Now he’s taken a back seat to Anna, Claire, and even Jack.

Maybe Dean’s right. Maybe he should give up on Halo, pass the torch to someone younger and more enthusiastic, someone more willing to take risks. He watches his niece’s blonde ponytail bounce and thinks, _someone like Claire_.

“I don’t know how long,” Cas confesses, “but I do think it’s recent. I don’t know any local gang with the capital to buy so many weapons from him, and the deal with the MacLeods sounds like a new contract. It’s a shaky partnership in any case.”

They come to a T in the tunnel, and Claire shines her light on the ground, picking the right side where the tracks are. Cas shines his light into the left end, noting that it's much smaller but still wide enough for humans to pass through easily. They’ll have to come back and check it out later. He marks the T on the map.

“Are you worried about the MacLeods?” Claire asks as she walks ahead.

“Not yet.” Claire turns around and raises her eyebrows at him. “We know what they’re here for. We also know what Roman is up to, and even though Dagon’s plans are more vague, we know she’s back to protect Roman until she can take the lead again. They’re all known variables. What bothers me is Hellfire. I still have no idea who he is or what he wants. He shows up out of nowhere, makes a big statement and attacks Roman a few times, then he’s gone.” Cas shrugs, although Claire can’t see it. “He’s not done yet. This isn’t his end game. He made it sound like he wanted Roman and the others like him dead. I just don’t know _why._ ”

“His way of fighting injustice?” Claire suggests. “I know we like to take the bad guys to the police, but he obviously thinks we’re ineffective. He’s not totally wrong, either — Mills’ hands are tied in red tape. We should have done more sooner to take care of Roman ourselves.”

Cas tries not to bristle at her light reprimand. She’s right, and that means maybe Hellfire is right, too.

“But why is he waiting to make his move?” he asks. “There’s something else going on. I don’t know what it is, but there’s more to his plan than taking on Roman. Is he stockpiling the weapons he’s stolen? What scares me is what he might do with them if he decides to use them.”

“What if he’s—” Claire pauses, evaluating. “He’s popular with the poorer parts of the city just thanks to his speech at your party. What if he _is_ a Robin Hood type? Selling the weapons and giving the profit away?”

“We’ve seen no proof of that,” Cas responds. “And that’s a dangerous game. Who would he sell to, and how could he guarantee the weapons wouldn’t be used in the streets of Purgatory? And even if that is his scheme, what good does his reputation do him with Roman, the MacLeods, the Demons, and us all gunning for his head? He’s made a lot of powerful enemies.”

“And he doesn’t care.” She huffs a laugh. “It’s almost admirable. To be honest, Cas, I think it’s a good thing he came along. He kicked us into gear in any case.”

Cas manages a curt, “I would tend to agree more if he hadn’t hurt Jack.”

Claire is quiet for several seconds before she says, “Yeah. True.”

They reach the end of the tunnel after a good thirty minutes of walking in silence. It’s caved in, a wall of concrete and rock left by Hellfire and his goons in the bombing that injured Jack. Cas marks it on the map with a sigh, glancing at his watch.

“We have to get out of here before high tide. We’ll need to come back and explore the other branches later to see if one of them was an escape route for Hellfire.”

The walk back down the tunnel is easier than the hike up, and they navigate the cave system in silence for several minutes. Cas takes note of every branch in the tunnel, though some look too small for a group of criminals to pass through. The system could take days to explore, and he’s not sure when they’ll find the time with the tide constantly coming in and out.

He can smell the salt in the air again when Claire says, “Cas, can I ask you something?”

She so rarely asks permission for anything it takes Cas aback. “Of course.”

“Is Dean Winchester the reason why you’re so protective of Jack and me?”

Cas almost stumbles over a rock. His first reaction is a resounding “No!” followed by a quick flash of anger. _Anna_. Of course she told them. She had no right to tell them. He hasn’t talked about Dean Winchester in a decade, and within the space of a week everyone important in his life has learned the source of his greatest shame and guilt. Cas feels somewhat irrationally infuriated and humiliated at the thought of Claire and Jack knowing about this trauma; at the idea they’ll pity him now instead of respecting him.

But when Claire looks over her shoulder, a clear question in her eyes, he sighs and says, “I’m protective of you because you're my responsibility and I love you. I know I’m not your father, but I still feel like I have to watch over you. I would feel that way even if—” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Even if Dean hadn’t died the way he did. Did his death make me more cautious than I need to be? Perhaps.”

His father sent his three teenage children out into the streets of Purgatory alone, telling them they were ready to fend for themselves against grown men and women with automatic weapons and years of experience fighting. Cas wouldn’t even let Claire and Jack start training with him until after they graduated high school. He didn’t want to be Chuck. He didn’t want them to end up like Dean, discarded for his ambitions. He didn’t want to be the kind of Halo his father was — shiny as Grace on the outside, black as Corruption on the inside. He wanted to be a real hero. A real father.

“I don’t think you understand why I’m so scared for you two,” Cas says softly, “because I don’t want you to understand. If you knew the pain and fear and suffering I’d been through at your age, then I would have failed you a thousand times over. I don’t want you to die like Dean, but also I don’t want you to live the way Anna, Balth and I lived. We were child soldiers, Claire. We didn’t choose this life. It was thrust upon us. I wanted you and Jack to know you had a choice, a chance to do something beyond picking up a mask.”

They’ve reached the edge of the water. It laps into the cave, spilling over their boots. Claire pauses before stepping in.

“This is our choice, Cas,” she says firmly, blue eyes locked on his. “Jack and I both want this life. We want to help. We wish you would let us.”

“I know,” he confesses as they slowly begin to wade in. The water chills him to the core, but not as much as this — letting go of his kids and allowing them to make their own decisions, even though they’re not the decisions he would have made for them. But he promised himself he wasn’t going to be that type of man. He promised he wasn’t going to control them the way his father controlled him. “I’m trying to step back. But it’s hard for me, Claire. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love the two of you.”

Claire lets that hang in the air as they swim back to the boat. Even after they’ve climbed in and pulled the anchor up and steered for the open water, she’s still quiet. Cas is unnerved by it, but he doesn’t know what else to say. _Sorry I’m a dick sometimes, but I do it because I love you?_ He’s not sure it’s a valid excuse.

Cas steers for the Shurleys’ dock, a palatial floating greenhouse underneath the cliff where the manor sits. Claire sits next to him, silent. The water is calm and clear in contrast to the whirlpool of his emotions — residual anger at Anna, fear and love warring for Claire and Jack, anxiety and excitement both for Dean Smith. Grief for Dean Winchester. He hasn’t let himself feel the latter in a long, long time.

“You know,” Claire says suddenly, “I know more about Chuck than you tell us. It’s hard not to know, living in that house, seeing the aftermath of — everything.” Cas thinks of an explosion, of Anna pulling the kids, still so young and defenseless, away while he rushed to find his father and put out his fires. _Something’s wrong with him,_ he’d told his siblings, so long ago now, _and we have to do something about it before he gets us all killed. “_ And I know you’re a better person than him. You’re a better _dad_ than him.” She bumps him again with her shoulder, gently, and Cas’s eyes water. She hardly ever says stuff like that, never calls him dad. “What happened to the other Dean wasn’t your fault.”

Cas knows this logically. Anna and Ellen have said as much a thousand times. Even Balthazar, not prone to reassurances, blamed Chuck and never Cas. The Winchester family didn’t even hold him accountable for the loss of their brother and son. But he blamed himself. He’s spent years thinking of all the things he might have done differently in Greece, all the ways he might have saved them both. It’s never done him any good. Even all the Grace in the world can’t change the past.

“I’m tired,” he admits, and he is. Too tired to hold the thought in anymore. Dean’s words from this morning are ringing in his head. _There’s always a choice. You’re just afraid to make it._

“Then let go,” Claire says, catching the deeper meaning behind his words. “We’ve got this.”

_I can’t_ , Cas thinks. _I made a commitment._ He keeps it to himself.

They don’t say anymore as they dock the boat, tying it down and climbing the stairs to the manor in an uneasy silence. As they cross the massive yard, Claire bumps his shoulder with hers, and Cas bumps her back. It’s a tender gesture coming from Claire, reassuring in its familiarity.

“You know,” she says, and her voice is lighter, teasing, “when you finally retire, I’m sure Dean Smith will be willing to entertain you.”

“Claire,” he warns, but he’s biting back a smile.

“You like him,” Claire says in a sing-song reminiscent of mocking children on a playground. “You want to date him. You want to looove him.”

“Stop!” Cas bumps her harder, and she gives as good as she gets.

“I can’t believe you’re dating a guy who called you out on local access television. Shacking up with the enemy.” Claire laughs. “Hey! You’re dating Catwoman!”

“He’s not a villain,” Cas protests. Without thought he adds, “A better analogy would be dating Lois Lane.”

Claire crows triumphantly. “Ah, so you admit it! You are dating!”

“That’s not—” It’s too late to argue. She’s walking ahead of him and laughing, and Cas just shakes his head.

Are they dating? He doesn’t know if getting a drink and then sleeping together once counts as dating, but tonight is definitely _a_ date. He wonders if it means they will be dating by the time dinner is over. Cas blushes, glad Claire is ahead of him and can’t see.

_Dating Catwoman_. It’s a nice thought.


	13. Dating Catwoman

Cas has never been much of a cook. Ellen guards her kitchen religiously, and he’s rarely welcome inside of it. But he’s sent her home early for the night and fumbled his way through a basic pot of spaghetti (a little bit undercooked) and meatballs (a little bit overcooked), and he’s set plates at the counter for his date with Dean.

Dean arrives right on time, and Cas lets him in through the back door of the former servants’ quarters. They hold hands as they walk through the hall to the kitchen. Dean says, “This is a lot less ostentatious than the ballroom I was in the last time I was here.”

“It used to be staff quarters,” Cas explains as they enter the kitchen. “But we only have one full-time staff member now, and she has her own home on the grounds. We usually eat down here. When Jack and Claire were younger they broke a priceless vase in the main dining room, and we’ve confined them to the basement ever since.”

Dean shakes his head with a smile. “I’m sure raising kids in a home full of priceless art was quite the chore.”

“I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or not.” Cas brandishes the sauce ladle at Dean. “But you should have seen their faces when our housekeeper Ellen told them we’d be taking the cost out of their allowances. Jack was thirteen at the time, and he cried like a small child. ‘But Aunt Ellen, that would take a thousand years!’” He smiles. “Claire told him not to be an idiot, that we would never do that to them. But she was afraid of Ellen, too.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t take it out of their allowances,” Dean says as he pours himself a generous glass of red wine.

“Of course not. It was a hideous vase anyway.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Dean feigns appreciation for the still slightly stiff spaghetti. Cas saws into his meatballs and tries not to grimace at how tough they are. He should have asked Ellen for pointers.

“I’m sorry about the food. I don’t cook often. Or ever.”

Dean holds up a forkful of meatball and bites into it like it’s a turkey leg. Cas should not find that attractive, yet he does. “It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says, mouth half full, “I like my meat a little gamey.”

“No need to lie.”

“No lie,” Dean says, hand in the air like a Boy Scout.

“And you’ll swear on the record you enjoyed this?” Cas asks, hacking his spaghetti into tiny pieces with his fork.

“You’re mixing up courtroom talk and journalism, dude.”

“Well, I don’t know much about journalists,” Cas admits.

“We mostly sit in front of computers and call people begging for interviews.” Dean shrugs. “I wish my job were more exciting sometimes. Especially lately. It seems like every call I make to Roman gets rerouted through ten people, then I get hung up on.”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you — Anna’s going to pass along any information we gather about Roman to you, including the audio from the meeting with Gavin MacLeod.”

“I appreciate that.” Dean's eyes are soft when they meet Cas’s. “It’ll take some convincing to get my editor to run with it, though. He’s an old-fashioned guy, hates anonymous sources. Doesn’t want us to be beholden to someone whose motives we don’t know.”

“Well, you know my motives.” Cas can’t help but look at Dean’s lips, and Dean mock glares at him.

“Turner doesn’t.” Dean smiles. “What’d you do to him, by the way? You came into the office to look for me once, and now every time I see him he rants about how he can’t get you to give him a single quote but I can pull a whole story out of you after one meeting.”

“I don’t like reporters,” Cas says. “Other than one particular _Piper_ reporter who likes to be a pain in my ass.”

Dean blatantly looks Cas up and down. “I _wish_ I were a pain in your ass.”

The sound of a throat clearing behind them startles both Dean and Cas. Dean jumps a bit in his chair, and Cas turns around slowly, wide-eyed and guilty.

It’s Jack. He’s managed to heal one leg so now he’s walking around on crutches, and Cas forgot to warn him the kitchen is off limits for the night. Jack’s in his rumpled pajamas, a blush on his cheeks as he pointedly avoids Cas’s eyes when he says, “I was just going to grab a snack.”

“Yes,” Cas manages to say, “you’re fine.” Although it is not fine at all that his surrogate son heard his maybe boyfriend insinuate they’re going to have anal sex later. Not fine at all.

Jack hobbles around the massive island, heading for the walk-in freezer. Dean stares at Cas with eyes screaming _what the fuck should I do?_ Cas shrugs. He’s never even really had The Talk with Jack. He tried when Jack was still a teenager, and the boy blushed and said, “Uncle Cas, my mom already told me all this stuff after I asked her if I ever had a dad when I was like eight, so…” But you don’t want your kids to think about you and sex in the same sentence, ever, no matter how old they are or how much they’ve picked up on their own.

Jack turns around, gripping a pint of ice cream in one hand. “So,” he says awkwardly after a few seconds, as if he’s just decided he can’t sneak out on crutches. “You must be Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “And you must be Jack. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jack says. His hand is getting red where he’s holding the ice cream. He glances down at Dean’s plate, which is almost empty. “Are you actually eating the food Cas makes?” Cas huffs, offended by his obvious shock.

“Well, it wasn’t so bad.” Dean grins, and Jack smiles back, a little unsure. He’s a lot like Cas in that way — meeting new people doesn’t come easily to him. But where Cas is abrupt to the point of offense, Jack is just plain shy.

“That’s a lie,” Jack says. “Cas always makes Ellen take holidays off so she can spend time with her husband’s family in North Dakota, and last Christmas he caught the oven on fire trying to cook a turkey. He didn’t realize you had to cook it for five hours until we were two hours away from dinner time, so he just turned the oven all the way up.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas, unimpressed. “Really, Cas?”

“Hey, you said it was salvageable!”

Jack's eyes are filled with pity. “We lied to make you feel better.”

Dean laughs as Cas’s mouth drops open in affront. “Aw man, don’t tell him that! I was selling my performance here!” Dean gestures to his plate.

“I hate you both,” Cas mutters, standing to take their plates to the sink. He smiles when he turns his back to them. Jack is saying, “If you’re still hungry there are a lot of frozen meals in the fridge. Ellen is big into meal planning. I think we’ve got tacos somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Dean says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m leaving,” Jack announces to the room at large as Cas walks over to Dean and pours him more wine. “You can go back to— whatever, now.”

Cas buries his face in the crook of Dean’s shoulder as Dean laughs, mutters, “Yes, thank you, Jack. Goodnight.”

He feels Dean’s head settle on top of his as the sound of Jack’s crutches thumping fades down the hall. “He’s a sweet kid.”

“The sweetest,” Cas says into Dean’s shirt, enjoying the feeling of Dean leaning on him. “Unfortunately not a kid anymore. They truly do grow up too fast.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dean says, and he pulls away. Cas stays behind him, arms wrapped around Dean’s neck and chin hooked over his shoulder. “Never had kids.”

“Hmmm.” Cas kisses the side of his neck. “Never had kids, never been married, only made a career change recently… were you breaking hearts across Scotland in your 20s?”

Dean forces a laugh, and Cas regrets the question. He wishes he were more tactful. He wishes he could just flirt without being vaguely insulting. “No,” Dean says. “I’m more of the type who gets his heart broken instead of the other way around.”

“Oh.” Cas finds this hard to imagine. It doesn’t fit in with the image he has of Dean, a man with the bone structure of a Greek god and the charisma of a beloved hero. “Who broke your heart? I could fight them for you…”

Dean turns his head to kiss Cas, gentle and slow. “Not necessary,” he says against Cas’s lips. “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“It’s more fun to do it together though,” Cas murmurs back, and Dean grins as he pulls away. Cas reluctantly moves to sit back down next to him.

“You’re lucky Jack didn’t come back right then.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how we didn’t hear him on those crutches.”

“How did he get hurt?”

For a moment, Cas forgets Dean knows who he is and what he does every night, and he tries to think of a suitable lie. It’s a relief when he realizes he can simply tell Dean the truth.

“We raided Roman Inc. a few weeks ago, but Hellfire beat us to the punch. He detonated a bomb to escape, and Jack got trapped under fallen debris.” He grimaces, thinking of that awful scramble to pull the beam off Jack’s legs. “Without his Grace I doubt he would have made it.”

Dean pales, looking so shaken Cas takes his hand. “He’s okay now. He has a knack for healing with Grace. It’s just taking some time to mend all the broken bones.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, and he takes a swig of wine. “Cas, why do you bring them into the field with you?”

Cas pulls his hand away at the accusatory note, and Dean reaches to take it back. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know they’re adults and it’s not my place…”

“It isn’t,” Cas snaps, but then he takes a deep breath, trying to reign his anger in. After all, hasn’t he wished they would just go to school like normal young adults? Fall in love and make friends and find nice, safe careers? If he were Dean, he’d question his parental judgement, too. “I didn’t want this for them, Dean. I hated that life as a kid — the constant drills, the secrecy. It was all I knew, though, so I felt like it was all I could be. I wanted more for them. But they chose the Angels for themselves. As soon as they turned eighteen there was no stopping them.”

Dean’s lips curl up in a small smile. “I was like that as a kid, too. Stubborn as hell.”

Cas smiles back. “I can imagine.” He absently swirls his wine glass. “Jack has one of the most accommodating personalities of anyone I’ve ever met, but he’s set on this. Even after his injury. And you’ve met Claire, so I’m sure her obstinance isn’t a surprise.”

“No.” Dean huffs a laugh. “You’ve got some good kids, Cas.” His smile falls, and his tone turns solemn as he says, “I’m sorry Jack got hurt.”

Cas stares down at his almost empty glass, thinking of the explosion ripping through Roman’s warehouse and Jack’s prone form under a pile of rubble. “When I find Hellfire, I’m going to make him wish he never came to this city.”

Dean doesn’t respond for several moments, eyes on his own glass. “Cas,” he says, voice dropped to a near whisper, “have you considered your dad might know who Hellfire is?”

Cas’s spine stiffens, and his eyes dart to the left, toward the back stairwell. Dean’s watching him carefully.

“I don’t know where my father is,” Cas lies. “He disappeared ten years ago. No one has seen him since.” He clears his throat, surprised by how difficult it is to hide the truth from Dean. After telling him almost everything else, he still can’t find it in himself to betray his deadbeat father. “Can we talk about something else?”

Dean presses his lips together for a moment, and he seems almost disappointed. As if he knows Cas is still keeping secrets from him. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

Cas wants to ask Dean more questions about himself. After all, he’s bared his soul to this man and yet Dean himself is still shrouded in mystery. The scars, the foreign travel, his newfound career — Cas wants to know about all of it. But he remembers the look on Dean’s face when he caught Cas staring at the lines criss-crossing his chest and arms. It was near panic. What could be so terrible in Dean’s past he feels he has to hide it from Cas of all people? Wouldn’t he understand better than most what pain and trauma do to a person?

He doesn’t go there. Dean’s not ready for him to go there, so Cas places his hand suggestively high on Dean’s knee and says, “We could talk about this morning.”

“It would be more fun to reenact it,” Dean teases, and Cas sees the relief in his easy smile.

“We could. You can sleep over again. I promise to make it more fun and less maudlin this time around.”

Dean holds Cas’s hand in his. “You know, it was intense, but in a good way. I don’t—” He pauses, rubbing his thumb over Cas’s knuckles. “I don’t normally let myself get so attached.” This last part is spoken softly, said to their enjoined hands.

“You’re attached?” Cas asks, trying to keep his voice light and even. It still comes out a bit shaky.

“Yeah.” Dean squeezes his hand, glancing up. “Didn’t mean to be, but. Yeah. I am.”

“I’m glad. I’m rather ‘attached’ myself.” Cas leans in and kisses Dean — slow, lazy, soft. Dean has nice lips, and they fit perfectly on Cas’s. Their bodies gravitate toward one another until Cas is almost falling off his chair, hands braced on either side of Dean’s legs as Dean pulls him in with one hand on his lower back and one in his hair.

It takes a while for them to come up for air. When they do, Dean says, “I wish I could stay, but I’ve got a meeting early tomorrow.” He attempts, unsuccessfully, to kiss the disappointment off Cas’s face. “Don’t look at me like that, Cas. Rain check, okay?”

Cas sighs. “Fine,” he concedes, “but next time, you cook.”

“Next time will be Chinese takeout, then.” Dean grins, brilliant and blinding. Cas can’t help but to kiss him again.

They drag out their goodbyes with more kisses than words even as Cas walks Dean to the door. He presses Dean against it, trails his lips up Dean’s neck, asks, “Are you sure you need to go home?” and Dean whispers, “Less sure by the second.”

Cas is about to say, “Then don’t go,” but that’s when the door opens from behind them and it takes his not inconsiderable reflexes to grab a hold of Dean’s collar before they both fall out onto the lawn.

“Fuck!” Dean curses and Cas concurs, using the door frame to leverage his weight as he pulls them both upright.

“I’m sorry!” Anna peers out from behind Dean’s shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting anybody to be standing there.”

“No, my bad,” Dean says through a laugh, twisting in Cas’s grip so he can face Anna. “I should have known Cas had more family in the wings waiting to sneak up on us. Hi, I’m Dean.”

He holds out a hand for her to shake. Anna takes it without hesitation, a slight smile on her own face before she looks up at Dean. Her smile fades instantly, her mouth falls open and she stutters, “Oh— I—” Cas can’t remember the last time he saw his sister so flustered. Dean’s smile falls, too. Cas frowns at her behind Dean’s back.

“I’m Anna,” she manages to say, sounding strained as she withdraws her hand from Dean’s grasp. 

“I’ve heard of you.” Cas can now tell when Dean’s affecting confidence. Anna’s startled reaction has taken him aback, but he’s trying to charm his way through the tension. “Cas’s genius sister.”

Anna’s still staring at Dean, uncomfortably so. She doesn’t so much as blink when she says, “Yes, well. I wouldn’t say genius.” Her eyes slide to Cas and he makes a _what the fuck_ face at her. She swallows. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m in a bit of a hurry, but I’m sure I’ll see you around later, Dean.” She forces a smile and pushes past them, disappearing into the house and down the hallway.

Cas grimaces at her back. “She’s not usually the awkward one.”

“And you are?” Dean touches Cas’s elbow, trailing his hand down Cas’s forearm to tangle their fingers together, squeezing and letting go.

“Yes,” Cas admits. He shakes his head. “She’s had a lot on her mind lately. And she’s not thrilled you know I’m Halo.”

“Did you tell her your secret is safe with me?”

Cas feels warmer with Dean’s steady gaze on him, feels sturdier and stronger. Like he can do anything. Tell the truth, fall in love, perhaps even walk away from the mask. His secret keeper. He never imagined he’d find someone he could trust this much. Cas says, “I told her. I know I’m safe with you.”

He can’t be sure, but for a brief moment, just a tenth of second, there seems to be a flash of uncertainty in Dean’s eyes. But then Dean’s leaning forward, pressing him back into the door like they were never interrupted, and Cas forgets everything but the feel of Dean’s lips on his skin.


	14. My Significance Sense is Tingling

It would be nice to wake up one day to zero crises.

But that’s not Cas’s life, so instead of waking up to a lazy weekend morning blowjob from Dean, he’s startled out of his peaceful slumber when Anna yanks the sheets off his bed.

  
“Why?” he protests, waving his arms in the air as he tries to pull them back. “It’s—” He glances at the bedside clock. “Four a.m., Anna!”

“We have a problem.” Her long hair is disheveled and she’s wearing a bathrobe over her t-shirt and shorts. Her eyes are bloodshot. “A big one.”

Cas forces himself to get out of bed, groaning as his knees creak. He’s not getting any younger, and it would be nice if he could get some sleep on the one night he’s staying home instead of fighting crime.

“We always have a problem,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What is it this time?”

“I’ve intercepted a message from Hellfire.”

Cas is very much awake now. He grabs his own robe, discarded earlier on the chaise lounge, and throws it on. “Do the others know?”

“Yes. I’ve already told Jack and Claire. And Balthazar is back from whatever hole he crawled out of this time. They’re all waiting in Headquarters.”

So she waited to tell him last. Cas tries not to be stung by that. “Let’s go,” he says, and he follows her downstairs to the basement.

The kids are sitting at the conference table already. Jack’s half asleep and still in his pajamas; Claire’s in uniform sipping from a hot cup of coffee. Balthazar is dressed in torn jeans and a low v-neck, leaning against the back of one of the leather conference chairs. They all turn to look when Cas and Anna walk in.

“Okay,” Anna says, not waiting for Cas to sit down before she pulls out her laptop and starts tapping away. “As you all know, I’ve had Roman Inc. pretty well hacked for the past couple of months and found very little of interest. He’s smart, building a paper trail instead of an electronic one. But Hellfire doesn’t care about that. He sent Roman this message thirty minutes ago, accidentally sending an alert to me. It’s a good thing I sleep lightly, because something big is about to go down.”

With a click of her mouse, Hellfire’s face fills the conference area’s big screen TV. The mask is every bit as menacing as the last time Cas saw it face to face in Roman’s warehouse, the square yellow eyes glinting in the low light, the red hood shined to a polish. Cas wonders if this video was filmed somewhere in the cave system.

Hellfire’s distorted voice fills the room. “Don’t you think it’s time to end this?” he taunts, cocking his covered head to the side. “Don’t you think it’s time to find out who really runs this city?”

Claire tapping her long nails against the table is the only other sound in the room as Hellfire continues, “Roman, the Demons, the MacLeods, Halo.” Anna glances at him, and Cas frowns. He wonders if Hellfire expected them to intercept this message. “You all think you’re in charge here; you all think you’re going to come out on top. But not one of you has managed to control _me._ ” He tilts his head again, unnervingly seeming to look at the camera from under those lifeless eyes. “Roman — all the money in the world can’t buy respect for a man who can’t handle his own business. The Demons — you’re nothing but a pack of dogs chasing after scraps. You come out of hiding thinking you’ll be back at the top of the food chain, planning to use Roman’s money to do it. But you have no real leader and no real plan. Halo would easily defeat you, if I weren’t planning on getting there first and doing it a lot more _thoroughly_. And as for the MacLeods, well. I’m sorry to say our partnership is coming to an end.”

Cas’s eyebrows raise. Partnership? He hadn’t known, but it makes sense — the MacLeods double-crossing Roman, letting Hellfire presumably destroy their own shipment when really he was just stealing it for them. And now they’re being double-crossed by their own hired gun. Hellfire had to be getting funds for weapons and armour somewhere, and the MacLeods have an empire to rival Roman’s.

“I think you might want to check your shipping containers. They’re about to go _boom_.” Hellfire laughs, mechanical and inhuman. “And Halo, if you happen to be listening...” The voice seems to drop even more, and Cas’s hands clench into fists. “You’ve tried to rid this city of corruption your way, and look where it’s gotten us. Purgatory is littered with criminals because you always let them go in the end. They’re not afraid of you anymore. But they should be afraid of me. So I’m going to take care of your problems for you, and all I ask is that you stay out of my way.”

“He’s going to kill them,” Jack whispers, and Hellfire says, “The rest of you — you know where to find me. I’ve been hiding under your noses for months, but I’m ready to come out now. Come and find me, you sons of bitches.” And the video goes dead in a blur of static.

Jack and Claire start talking over one another, arguing over where Hellfire is planning to hold his last stand. Cas isn’t listening to them. He’s staring at the static on the screen, Hellfire’s last words ringing in his ears. _Come and find me, you sons of bitches._ It scratches at a place in his brain he didn’t know itched, probing and prodding. Why did it sound so familiar?

_Come and find me, you sons of bitches._

_Come and fight me, you sons of bitches._

“Cas.” He starts when Anna calls his name, dropping his eyes from the screen to her face. Her brows knit together as she stares at him. Balthazar has come to stand behind Anna’s shoulder, one hand on the back of her chair. His brother is watching Cas’s face carefully, silently — which is unusual and disconcerting enough on its own.

“Yes?” he says, and Anna says, “Where do you think he’s going?”

There’s only one location that makes sense. It has to be somewhere every party is familiar with, and it has to be connected to the tunnels. Why else would Hellfire mention hiding under their noses?

“The beach,” Cas says. “The one with the cave entrance Claire and I explored the other day. It’s small and difficult to access. If they’re stupid enough to show up, he’ll be waiting to pick them off easily.”

“Are they stupid enough to show up?” Jack asks, finished arguing with Claire.

“They want him dead just as much as he wants them dead. Greed makes people do stupid things.” Cas stands up, trying to ignore the way his legs shake. _What is wrong with him?_ “We should go. This might get ugly, fast.”

“We shouldn’t take the boat,” Claire says, already putting her mask on as Cas starts to walk toward the wall of displayed uniforms. “They’ll hear us coming. We can rappel down the cliff now we know where the cave is, take them all by surprise.”

Cas nods in agreement as he pulls out his suit. “Good idea, Claire. We’ll leave now and hopefully beat Roman and the Demons there.” When he closes the cabinet door, Anna is standing on the other side, face still pinched.

“I’m coming with you,” she declares, and he realizes she’s clutching her old costume in her hands. He stares at her. All these years he’s asked and begged and pleaded for her to come back into the field with him until she said no so often he relented, and now when he hasn’t asked at all she’s decided to change her mind.

“Anna…” She shakes her head, dispelling any argument.

“I know what you’re going to say. That this isn’t the best fight to jump into after years of retirement and I’m not in shape for this kind of thing, but I don’t care. I’m not going to let you face this alone.”  
  
  
He makes a face at her. “Claire is coming with me. You’re the one who insisted she was more than capable of joining the fight.”

Anna’s eyes are so sad when she says, “It’s not the fight I’m worried about.”

“What does that mean?” Anna opens her mouth to respond, but Balthazar pops up behind her and puts a stilling hand on her shoulder.

“I’m going, too,” he says, forced cheer in his voice. “Might be good to get the old gang back together again after all this time.”

Cas sees Claire and Jack watching them out of the corner of his eye, so he doesn’t raise his voice when he asks, “What the hell is going on?”

“I’d like to see this Hellfire.” Balthazar squeezes Anna’s shoulder. She winces. “If he anticipates your every move, maybe he won’t anticipate us, hmmm?” Then he slinks away, off to grab his dusty suit from a display cabinet in the far corner, calling over his shoulder, “The Trinity rides again!”

Cas glares at Anna, feeling off-kilter and somehow mocked. She won’t quite meet his eyes as she says, “We just want to help.”

“Fine.” There’s no use arguing now, not when they’re running out of time. Claire is bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to go, and Jack has already settled into Anna’s normal spot, monitoring the computers. They have to hurry to head off Hellfire. “But you will tell me what’s going on when this is over.”

Cas turns away to go change into his wing suit, but he hears her say softly behind him, “You’ll understand soon enough.”

///

_Come and find me, you sons of bitches._

Cas stands silhouetted against the night sky, wings spread as he watches the small beach below, Hellfire’s words tumbling around in his mind. Anna and Claire are at his left shoulder, Balthazar at his right. He used to wish for this — the Trinity, together again, fighting crime as a family. Back after Dean died, he longed for his siblings to stand next to him more than ever. But Chuck disowned Balthazar for disobedience and Anna withdrew into herself more and more as the years passed, until he stood alone. Now they’re with him, and he doesn’t know why but it feels like a bad omen.

They were too late to beat the others here. Dick Roman stands in the bow of a luxury speedboat, arms crossed over his chest and surrounded by bodyguards. Dagon and two of her men are on the beach in front of Roman’s boat. She’s pacing in the sand. The MacLeods sent the largest contingent, a group of large men with burly beards and rough accents, and they’re gathered at the other end of the beach, shooting suspicious glances at Roman and the Demons. Their boat bobs in the waves behind them. Hellfire is nowhere to be seen.

“Do you think he set this up so they’d take each other out?” Cas whispers to Anna, who nods.

“It makes sense,” she says, gesturing to the tense faces below. “They despise each other. Even those who think they’re working together.”

Dagon, fed up with the waiting, is the first to crack. “You,” she says, pointing toward Gavin MacLeod, and Cas has to use his Grace to hear her from the top of the cliff. “You set us up.” He wonders if she’s referring to Roman’s shipments or if he had something to do with Hellfire missing their bus standoff.

Dagon’s eyes flash yellow, and the men surrounding the MacLeod heir hold up their automatic weapons, pointing them at her chest. She laughs. It sends shivers down Cas’s spine.

“Won’t do you any good, boys, but you’re welcome to try.” Dagon holds her arms out in a _come at me_ gesture. The MacLeod gang don’t shoot, but they keep their guns trained on the yellow-eyed Demon.

Roman, still hiding in his boat, shouts, “Kill them, Dagon, and let’s be done with this!”

For a moment, Cas expects her to do it. To close her fist and choke them to death with Corruption, dropping their bodies to the sand the way she’d once dropped him and Dean. Instead she whirls around, facing the sea and Roman’s contingent.

“And _you_ ,” she snarls, and Cas knows Roman picked the wrong ally. Roman must know it too, now. “You think you can order me around like some attack dog? You, who is at the mercy of Halo and Hellfire? I already have your money. I want nothing more from _you_.”

Before Cas can react, Dagon snaps her fingers and Roman’s eyes roll back in his head as he drops dead.

Gunfire rings out almost instantly. Roman’s men are shooting at Dagon, MacLeod’s men are shooting at everyone, and then Roman’s men start shooting at the MacLeods, too. The sound of bullets hitting flesh and rock seems to echo throughout the cliffs, and Claire yells, “We’ve gotta get down there!”

“Be careful,” Cas says, but the others are already dropping out of sight, rappelling down the cliffside and into the fray. He grits his teeth and leaps off the cliff, gliding down to land in the middle of the firefight with a powerful blast of Grace that knocks all the criminals off their feet.

“Enough!” he screams, and his Grace distorts his words into a high-pitched whine that causes the uninjured henchmen to cower with their hands over their heads. The other Angels flock to him, hands up and palms out, glowing blue with Grace. Cas stares out over the bloodied beach. Half of the men are dead. He hopes they can subdue the others with no more casualties. “We’ll be the ones to put an end to this!”

“I don’t think so,” comes a familiar, disjointed voice from behind them.

Cas turns to the cave and sees Hellfire standing in the gaping mouth, two hooded figures flanking his sides. “ _I’m_ going to put an end to it.”

Hellfire raises his hand, and Cas has no time to warn the others before the blast hits in a rippling, bone-jarring shock of energy that nearly brings him to his knees. Electric like Grace, burning like Corruption. Cas has never felt another power like this before — except in Greece, at the center of it all.

He raises his own hands, his Grace throbbing from the attack, and he looks at his new foe and wonders for a dizzying, terrifying moment, _Alastair?_ But then Hellfire steps out of the cave and onto the sand, his body slightly swaying with a put-upon swagger, arms held wide, asking, “Come on! Is that all you’ve got?” And he’s heard those words before.

Cas knows this isn’t Alastair.

His heart sinks and bile rises in his throat. It’s improbable, it’s impossible, and it _hurts._

And he knows.


	15. The Unmasking

There is no time for questions or anger or grief. As soon as Hellfire makes his move, chaos erupts and Cas and the Angels are fighting for their lives.

He feels Dagon’s Corruption flaring behind his back as she levels an attack at Balthazar. Cas can’t turn around to help. He’s already deflecting bullets from all sides, shouting at Claire as she sprints across the sand to take on Hellfire’s female counterpart. Anna is lost somewhere in the frenzy, fighting Dagon’s Demon underlings. The burly hooded man next to Hellfire charges Cas and he deflects with his Grace, sending the man sprawling to the ground, but not before his own shot glances against Cas’s side. It’s pure Corruption, familiar and revolting, solidifying in Cas’s mind what he already knows: Hellfire has Grace running through his veins, too. It’s why Cas didn’t recognize the feel of his power at first. It didn’t feel like this. He’s never known someone to possess both.

The MacLeods who survived the shootout are pushing their young leader toward the waves, the hooded woman running after them with Claire on her heels. Roman’s men are trying to start their own boat, but Hellfire simply twists his hand and the engine begins to sputter and die. Cas follows him, flinging away the stray bullets from the desperate, unpowered men at the edges of the beach. Hellfire isn’t looking at Cas. He’s headed for Dagon.

She stands in the center of the chaos, laughing as her men take on Anna and Balthazar, oblivious to the mobsters firing blindly at her. Her Corruption is oozing from her very pores in a thick, black smoke that curls over her body protectively until all Cas can see through the haze are her yellow eyes. He runs toward the smoke as it billows higher and wider, chasing Hellfire.

Corruption, like Grace, is not meant to be unleashed. It’s volatile at best, nuclear at worst, and the blast of heat that hits Cas when he stumbles into Dagon’s aura is staggering. His Grace burns with it, sending shocks throughout his body as it fits against the power that is antithesis to its own. Cas clenches his teeth together, fighting around the pain as he stumbles toward the woman at the center of the storm. She’s strong, and she knows her limits. He just doesn’t know if she cares about breaking them and taking them all down with her.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” says a voice from within the storm. It’s Dagon’s voice, but deeper, layered as if there are a hundred voices speaking at once. The Corruption speaking through her.

“Can’t believe you didn’t see what?”

Cas can barely make out Hellfire, standing firm before the epicentre of the darkness that is Dagon. He seems almost unfazed by her attack, and Cas is struggling to move.

“I know who you are,” Dagon says, and there might be a smile beneath her yellow eyes.

“Who am I?”

Cas feels as though the air is being sucked out of his lungs when Dagon replies, “Righteous Man.”

_“Righteous Man,” Alastair taunts, his dirty fingernails digging into Dean’s chin as he forces Dean’s head up. Dean squirms, bound and gagged, and Cas strains against his own bonds. “You lot do pick the dumbest monikers.” His eyes flare white with Corruption, and Dean screams through the gag. Cas echoes his cries, thrashing on the other side of the cage as Alastair laughs. “We’ll see how righteous you are when I’m through with you…”_

He knew already. Of course he knew. But beneath the burn of Corruption, the ache in his chest expands. It grows until it’s too big to fit into such a small container, grows until it escapes his mouth in a strangled moan. Hellfire and Dagon don’t hear him, don’t notice him. They’re completely focused on each other.

“I know who you are, too,” Hellfire says, and there’s almost an inflection to the voice, like he’s smiling under the mask. “And I’ve waited a long time for this.”

Hellfire reaches out a black gloved hand and clenches his fist. The mass of smoke that is Dagon begins to spin violently, shaking the ground beneath them, spewing out rocks and dirt. Cas puts his own hand out, pushing back against the growing whirlwind with his Grace, trying to keep his center of gravity low enough to the ground to not get thrown back against the cliff wall. Dagon cackles, but Hellfire doesn’t move, and soon her cackles turn to screams.

Cas has seen a Demon die before. Less than a year after Dean’s death he and his father returned to Greece. They tore apart the Demon stronghold. Cas watched as Chuck plunged his hands through Demons’ chest, sending Grace blasting through them until their organs failed and the blood burst from their eyes and mouths and ears. He watched as Chuck stood over Azazel, watched until nothing was left of the Demon leader but a massive bloodstain on the ground. He’s never seen anything quite like this.

There’s lightning in the smoke. At least it looks like lightning to Cas — yellow and blue streaks of sparks that spiral out from Hellfire’s raised fist and into the tornado of Corruption, leaving the hair on his arms standing on end. His whole body screams at him in warning, urging him to run or brace for impact. _Grace,_ he thinks, watching the sparks fly, _Grace and Corruption blended._

Dagon’s screams are ferocious and never ending, and Cas watches the smoke around her dissipate as Hellfire’s power courses through it. Her human form is coming back into view as the Corruption flails around her, Dagon desperately trying to call it back in a vain attempt to save herself. She’s doubled over with her hands grasping at her cheeks, pulling down her lower eyelids to show the redness around her pupils as her blood vessels burst, her mouth locked open as the fire let loose by Hellfire pushes her own ruined Corruption back inside her body and consumes her.

He smells flesh burning and, like he did when his father killed Azazel, Cas turns away so he doesn’t have to see the explosion that follows. He feels it, though. It shakes the beach, rattles the cliffs and pushes back the tide. A Demon never dies quietly.

When he lifts his head, the panicked shouts of the remaining Roman and MacLeod men are the first sounds to cut through the ringing in his ears. He ignores them, pushing off the beach on shaking hands and looking for his family, praying they avoided the worst effects of the blast.

Cas doesn’t have to worry for long. Claire is at his side before he’s fully standing, yanking him to his feet and blocking a blow from Hellfire’s henchwoman with her arm. “Behind you!” she yells, and Cas just has time to turn and throw up his arms to block a kick from Hellfire’s other goon. Cas uses the man’s own momentum against him, grabbing his foot and shoving him backwards into the sand.

Claire and the woman are fighting with close-range blasts of Grace and Corruption behind him, and in front of him Anna and Balthazar are both challenging Hellfire. They’re outmatched. Anna does her signature spinning kick followed with a Grace blast; he simply ducks under it. Balthazar is waiting for him to spring up, hand extended palm up to chop him in the neck. Hellfire blocks the blow with an upraised arm in a move Cas has seen a hundred times because they practiced it together daily on the Shurley Manor lawn with Chuck watching from the balcony above. Every move his siblings make is telegraphed by a thousand mock fights on a thousand hot days and the muscle memory those fights left behind in the young man who used to be one of them.Hellfire knows this fight because he’s fought it before, fought it to the sound of Cas yelling, bored, _Again!_

_“Too sloppy, Dean. Anna knows all your weak points! Again! Again! Don’t give up footing so easily! Again!_ _Look, even Balthazar has better control of his Grace than that, and he’s hungover! Again!”_

The other goon is getting up but Cas lunges away with a beat of his wings, moving toward Hellfire. He doesn’t get close, though — Hellfire sees him coming as he spins away from another one of Anna’s attacks. She strikes a glancing blow across the bottom of his helmet and it cracks, but Hellfire is already moving on to his counterstrike. With a stomp of his foot he lets loose an incredible shockwave of that peculiar _Grace-Corruption_ power, sending them all tumbling back.

As Cas hits the ground, he feels one thing more than the pain in his body and the ache in his heart — he feels fury. The fury of fifteen years of unwarranted grief, the fury of misplaced adoration, the fury of betrayal. Yes, he hits the ground, but he barely registers it. He’s on his feet before his siblings have even caught their breath, screaming, “Dean!” and leveling a blast of Grace at the other man that would send a normal Demon flying.

Hellfire — _Dean_ — turns at the sound of his name, and the hit sends him stumbling back a step. The helmet, cracked where Anna hit it, splits and falls away at the corner, revealing the edge of a mouth Cas has watched form words he cherished, a mouth he’s _kissed_. A boy he loved and a man he made love to, and Cas thinks he might hate Dean in this moment when he confirms all of Cas’s worst fears.

“I told you to stay out of my way, Cas,” he says, and it’s not Hellfire’s distorted mechanical voice but _Dean’s_ he hears.

_Why_ is what he wants to scream next, but Dean pulls something off his belt and then Anna yells, “Get back!” as he throws it to the ground and the air around them is blurred by smoke and sand.

A second, much larger blast shakes the beach. Cas feels the ground rumbling beneath his feet and ducks down to avoid stray rock flying through the air.

When the dust clears, the surviving MacLeods and Roman’s men have scattered, the tide is rising, the cave opening is collapsed, and Dean is gone.

///

No one has said a word since they got back to Headquarters. Even Claire is silent, staring at her nails and pushing her cuticles back with a knife. Jack’s jittery, _tap tap tapping_ on the table with his pointer and index fingers. Balthazar has his head in his hands, lost for words for once. Anna is pacing, and Cas feels like he’s two seconds from losing his mind.

Someone has to say _something_ , and he’s their leader. At least he’s supposed to be.

“He’s not here for Roman,” Cas says, because he knew from the moment he watched Dean face off against Dagon what Hellfire’s true mission is. That much power, that much _anger_ — he’s felt it all before. He’s felt it in _himself_ , toward her, toward Azazel. Toward Alastair.

How much worse is it for Dean?

His family stares at him and Cas swallows down his bitter disappointment and his fear and anger and says, “He was trying to draw the Demons out and he succeeded. He just didn’t get the one he wanted.”

“Cassie,” Balthazar says, pulling his face out of his hands and glaring across the table. “Is Alastair _alive_?”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t. They never found him in Greece. Chuck sent Cas home after he killed Azazel. It was perhaps the one good thing his father ever did for him. Cas was already losing his somewhat tenuous hold on his sanity just being back in that place, covered in blood that wasn’t his, utterly defeated and lost _again_. It was unspoken between them that Chuck would stay to hunt down Alastair, but Cas could never bring himself to ask afterwards if he succeeded. Chuck was never the same after Greece, and he never told them what happened to him there after Cas left. He simply locked himself into the west wing of Shurley Manor, losing more and more control over his Grace until his children were forced to ward his rooms like prison cells, leaving him trapped inside.

“How could you not know?” Balth demands. “You and Chuck spent weeks tracking them down! You came back with worse PTSD than you left with! We thought you’d killed him yourself!”

His children are looking at him, eyes wide. _Don’t kill if you don’t have to_ , Cas tells them, and they never have. He never told them this mantra comes from personal experience. _Don’t kill them if you don’t have to because even if you think they deserved it, it will haunt you forever._ Cas can practically feel their reevaluation, all the ways he’s changed in their eyes over the past few weeks. Everyone has a past, but perhaps he should have explained his before it showed up at his doorstep in a Zorro mask.

“I left as soon as Azazel went down,” Cas snaps, “and I don’t know what Chuck did after. Ask _him_.”

“As if he’s saying anything these days! I don’t know why I bother, it’s not like you even knew Dean was alive.” Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “How exactly did you miss _that_?”

“He died!” Cas pounds a fist on the table, and the kids and Anna jump. “I _watched_ it happen!”

Anna holds up a hand to silence Balthazar’s retort. “It’s possible Azazel brought him back for some reason. We know he had the ability.” She takes a deep breath, centering herself. “But it doesn’t matter now. He’s alive, and he’s here for revenge.” She turns to Cas. “Tell me you didn’t tell Dean that Chuck is still here.”

Cas is silent, and Balthazar says, “Oh, fucking perfect. He and his little gang are probably headed here right now to kill him.”

“What?” Jack asks, shocked. At the same time Anna says, “ _Castiel_.”

“I didn’t tell him.” Cas rubs at his temples. “But he asked about Chuck, and I— I looked toward that wing. I know he saw. I gave it away.”

“ _Cas_.”

“Balthazar is right.” He looks at his brother, and Balthazar turns his head away. “Dean—” He feels like he’s choking on the name. “He could easily want Chuck dead.”

“Or he knows Chuck is his best bet at finding Alastair,” Anna says grimly. “So we set up a watch. Two at a time guarding the corridor outside Chuck’s room. Balth and I can take the first shift, Claire and Cas second.”

Claire just nods, still silent. Cas’s head pounds as if his brain is going to ooze out of his ears.

“Is he really gonna kill Grandpa?” Jack demands, and no one responds.

There’s nothing left to say.

Just this morning, Cas was falling in love. And now—

Now Dean, _his Dean_ , is the enemy. A voice in his head says _that’s not right_ , and he ignores it. He’s been lied to and betrayed, and he laid his heart out on the line for a man who already knew _everything_.

So why did Dean need him at all, if not to get to Chuck?


	16. Create Your Own Villain

Charlie is staring at him with That Look on her face. Dean’s been on the receiving end of said look a lot over the years, and it never bodes well for him. So he’s choosing to ignore it.

She’s sitting on his ratty apartment couch with her helmet in her hands, her short, red hair mussed and sticking up in sweaty clumps. Benny doesn’t look much better, sprawled on the floor and red-faced with indentation marks in his cheeks from where his helmet is too tight. He hates the helmet on good days, and tonight was a shit night. Plus, he got his ass easily handed to him by Cas. Dean’s sure his ego is bruised.

And Dean isn’t thinking about Cas right now, so—

“Do we actually have a plan now?” Charlie asks. “Because I’m pretty positive we just pissed off our sponsors a whole lot.”

Dean calculated the risk of back-stabbing the MacLeods into his original plan, of course. But that was when the denouement of said plan was murdering Alastair in front of everyone. Any risk would have been worth it. Then Alastair never showed, and now they’ve already played their hand. Their employers are going to be more than pissed off. Dean would bet all the money he doesn’t have that Gavin’s running to daddy right now. Crowley will be on the next plane to Purgatory. Maybe even Rowena will show up if they’re very unlucky, and they usually are.

“They’re gonna kill us,” Benny mutters from the floor, and Charlie nods. “ _If_ your boy toy don’t kill us first.”

“Don’t call him that,” Dean snaps on reflex. Charlie gives him That Look again.

This time she’s not quiet about it, either. “Is it even worth it anymore?” she asks. “We don’t need to stay here. Roman is dead and so is Dagon. The rest of the Demons will go back into hiding. We’ve dealt a huge blow to crime in Purgatory, and now I think we should go back to Scotland and finally deal with the rest of the MacLeods.”

“We don’t have the strength to take out Rowena on her home turf,” Dean says dismissively. “And in case you’ve forgotten, we weren’t just doing this so you could get back at Roman. I _need_ to find Alastair.”

“At the expense of hurting Cas more than you already have?” Charlie asks, skipping over his insult to her and going straight for his jugular. Dean can’t help but flinch. “Dean, just go talk to him without the fucking mask or the fake identity.”

“No.”

Benny throws his arm up over his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Charlie sits up and leans forward toward him, barely balanced on the edge of the couch. “I think it’s time we call this like it is — you’re way into him. You might even be in love with him.”

“Charlie—” he protests, but she cuts him off.

“You can’t fool me. You don’t want to take him down anymore. You _know_ he didn’t do this to you.” She gestures to all of him, but Dean knows she means the Mark on his arm and the smoke in his veins. The Corruption. “He didn’t leave you there knowingly. He clearly has no idea about the Pool. And if you stay and go after Chuck, it _might_ lead you to Alastair but it _will_ cost you any chance of working things out with Cas. Chuck is his _father_. You of all people should know how complicated that gets.”

There’s a fire inside Dean that never goes out. It’s at constant war with the Grace he was born with, strangling the glow his mother promised made him special. He’s gotten better at controlling it — years of torture and practice will do that — but now the Corruption flares, angry and dissatisfied, and his eyes flash to black.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean snaps, and Charlie doesn’t flinch away. She’s good like that. Benny might be eyeing him warily, but Charlie has seen all of Dean and she’d never run. Charlie is well acquainted with the dark. “Chuck sent us into that hellhole, and Cas is _protecting_ him. There’s nothing to work out, Charlie. This isn’t a fucking fairy tale! I don’t get to hunt down the monster and then get the guy. That’s not how my life works! Good things just don’t happen for me.”

She eyes him calmly, cooly. “I disagree. I think you could make something good come out of this if you’d try.”

Dean knows what she wants. She wants him to say he’ll go after Cas, apologize for all the deceit and lies, and ask Cas to help him take down Rowena and Crowley. She hopes he’ll forget about Alastair and let the past die.

But he can’t. He’s spent nearly two decades of his life waiting for his revenge, and he’ll get it if it kills him. Again. Dean breathes in deeply, forcing his eyes to flick back to green.

“We’ve already got most of what we came for. Roman’s out; and you’ve found enough dirt on the rest of the elites to get the Feds interested once my last article drops. So you two should go. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this in the first place. You should run now, before the MacLeods get here.”

Charlie shakes her head, and Benny pulls his arm off his face and sits up. “We did agree to this,” he points out.

“Yeah, you agreed to help me and you did. We got Dagon, she got Roman, and I can do the rest on my own.”

“You just said the three of us together couldn’t handle Rowena,” Charlie says, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not talking about Rowena.” Dean’s dealt with the witch for years, lived half his life under her thumb. He’s always figured she’d kill him someday. He’s not afraid to die in general. He’s afraid to die before he gets Alastair, and Charlie knows it.

“You’re going to go after Chuck,” Charlie says grimly. “You don’t even know if he’s there. One shady look from Cas doesn’t mean he has his father locked up in some vacant wing of that house.”

“Our surveillance says there’s seven people staying there,” Dean shoots back, counting on his fingers. “The three Shurley siblings, Cas’s kids, Ellen, and Chuck.”

“You don’t know the seventh is Chuck!”

“It is.” He knew the moment Cas’s eyes darted away when Dean asked about his father. Dean was surprised to find Cas is still a terrible liar. He thought that was something Chuck would have trained out of his star pupil.

Charlie and Benny exchange a loaded look. They think he’s losing his control. After he killed Dagon, after he blasted Cas and the others away, he saw Charlie staring at him from across the beach. She didn’t need to take her helmet off for Dean to picture the disappointment on her face.

Dean grabs at his right forearm where the Mark burns beneath his jacket. _I still control you,_ he thinks, _not the other way around_. Not like Charlie and Benny can tell the difference. Charlie usually differentiates Dean from the Mark, but he feels like the lines are blurring even for her.

“We’re going with you then,” Charlie says, and Benny says, “Agreed.”

The Mark burns hotter. Dean is so tired. Too tired to argue. “Fine.”

Benny stands, groaning as he stretches his back and cracks what sounds like every vertebrae in his spine. He leaves the room first, punching Dean lightly on his good shoulder — the left one — and heading back to his room. Charlie stays put.

“What now?”

“It was overkill,” she says, voice soft so Benny won’t overhear. “We agreed to use the Colt. You never even brought it out.”

“She let loose, so I let loose. And I saved everybody else on that beach.”

“Every time you do that, it gets harder to reign back. I can tell.” She shrugs off her jacket. She’s wearing a plain black tank top underneath. Dean can see her own Mark burned red and angry onto her shoulder. It looks worse than the last time he saw it. He can only imagine what his looks like right now. It’s throbbing. It wants him to let go again.“I’m worried about you.” Charlie rubs her Mark. “I’m worried about _me_. I liked watching her kill Roman, Dean. I liked it too much.”

“Charlie, you’re the one who wanted him gone.”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean I like that about myself,” Charlie insists. She’s getting teary eyed. “I’m not a killer. I hate being this _angry_ all the time. I hate how overjoyed I felt when she snapped his neck. We could have taken him on with _evidence_ and not weapons, but we didn’t.”

“You know the court system in Purgatory is corrupt. He got off before, he’d get off again and hurt more people. And you didn’t kill him — Dagon did. She would have done that anyway.”

“I know!” Charlie says. “But I’m still upset at myself. I don’t know if it’s justice or just revenge anymore. I can’t even fucking tell. And neither can you.”

“Then _go home_. You’re done. You got what you wanted, and you can move on. I can’t.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, eyes on his. He wills himself to stay calm. He’s been doing so well. _Cas helped,_ he thinks, and then he wishes he hadn’t. Charlie sighs.

“I know what Alastair did to you,” she says softly, “so I understand what this means to you. You know I do. But I also know _you_. You’re a good man.” He shakes his head, and she says, “You _are_. The things you’ve convinced Cas to do in just a few weeks… Think of everything else you two could do together. What a difference you can make. You’ve been his good conscience, and that’s with the Mark on your arm. So don’t let Alastair win in the end. Don’t give up the rest of your life to him. He’s already taken enough from you.”

“I have to—”

“Kill Alastair if you have to,” she says. “I’m not saying don’t. But please, Dean, just _talk_ to Cas before you go looking for Chuck. Tell him the truth, and he’ll help you.”

_He didn’t help me then_ , Dean thinks, or the Mark thinks. Charlie might be right. There’s no difference anymore. He’s corrupted through and through.

“Go to sleep,” he tells her. “You can stay here if you want.”

Her shoulders slump. She knows this discussion is over. “Okay.”

Dean turns his back on her. He goes to bed, and he doesn’t sleep. The nightmares keep waking him up.

///

_“C’mon.” He knocks his elbow against Cas’s. Cas moves his arm with a grunt. “You can’t tell me you aren’t just a little bit excited.”_

_Dean’s normally afraid of planes, but they’ve been in the air for a while and the flight attendant keeps giving him champagne. He’s too tipsy to be scared anymore._

_“Solo mission,” he continues, and Cas glares at him sleepily. “Solo mission in Greece!”_

_“We’re here to work.” Cas has a stick up his ass the size of a redwood, and Dean’s pretty sure he hates him. That hasn’t killed his unfortunate crush._

_“We can also have a little fun,” Dean presses, leaning into Cas’s space. Cas eyes him warily. “Think of the beaches. Scratch that, you’re a fucking nerd. Think of the museums and the ruins.”_

_“Think of finding the source of Corruption so we can snuff it out,” Cas says, and then he takes his book and his blanket and walks to the back of the jet. Dean watches him go. He wants to find the source, yeah. But he also wants Cas to smile at him for once. He’s not sure which goal is more unachievable._

///

_Cas does smile at him. Cas smiles a lot, actually._

_The first time is when Dean butchers his Greek completely when speaking with their taxi driver and manages to get them dropped off in the middle of nowhere. They spend two hours walking back to their hotel. Cas is pissed off, but he smiles — a small, slight thing — when Dean takes off his shoes to reveal a major blister on his heel. It’s a vindictive smile, but it’s something._

_Then he smiles when Dean gets blown off by the girl he’s hitting on at the beach. He smiles when Dean hates the fish he ordered. He smiles when Dean trips going down the steep stairs by their hotel and has to fall on his ass because he can’t use his Grace in public without a mask._

_Yeah, Cas hates him._

///

_“Dude, what’s your problem?” They’re drinking in Corfu. They’ve looked in Athens, in Sparta, in Tripoli and Patras. No sign of the Demons. Cas is frustrated enough to let loose a little._

_“My...problem?” Cas purposefully talks slow when he’s drunk. Dean thinks he doesn’t want to slur. Probably feels like it’s undignified._

_“Yeah, your problem.” Dean doesn’t care if he slurs. “You’ve always been an— an ashhole. An asshole. To me. For... no... reason!” He punctuates the last three words with a finger to Cas’s chest._

_Cas squints at him. Cas squints a lot, too. He’s gonna have a lot of wrinkles around those beautiful baby blues when he gets older._ Good, _Dean thinks,_ serves him right.

_“I thought this trip ‘ould help.” Dean shrugs. “But nooo, Cas is an ass still. You put the ass in Cas!” He’s a little too proud of himself for that one._

_“I’m… sorry,” Cas says. He stares into his empty wine glass. “You’re okay, Dean. I’m just—” He waves a hand around. Dean has trouble following it with his eyes. “My father.”_

_“You’re your father?”_

_“No.” Cas tilts his head. He does that when he’s confused, usually when Dean makes pop culture references. He looks like a lost puppy. “I— I’m not… good enough. For my father. That’s why he sent you with me.”_

_“Whatever,” Dean says, because he may be drunk but he’s not stupid. Chuck has barely spoken ten words to him in the four years the Winchesters have lived on the grounds of Shurley Manor. He’s listened to Balthazar complain enough to know that according to Chuck, Anna is the smart one, Balthazar is the reject, and Castiel is the asskisser. The rule follower. “Your dad_ sees _you.”_

_Cas pours more wine into both their glasses, all the way to the rim. “Not really. I’m—” He pauses, counts something on his fingers. “Fourth choice. At best.”_

_“Who’s—” Why can’t he_ word _? “One? And the rest?”_

_“Michael. Luke. Then Anna. She… She’s just not into the Angels very much.”_

_“Oh.” Dean doesn’t know much about Michael and Luke other than one died and the other one...left? He also didn’t know Anna doesn’t like the Angels. She’s so_ good _at using her Grace, and at everything else. He looks at Cas and his dejected grimace and for the first time Dean feels like they have something in common. “Y’know, my dad likes Sammy better.”_

_“Yeah,” Cas says, and it’s actually nice to hear someone acknowledge the truth as fact for once. Jo and Sam always deny John’s favoritism — Sam because he doesn’t see it, Jo because she’s his friend and she doesn’t want to hurt Dean’s feelings. “I do get that… impression.”_

_“It sucks,” Dean says, feeling more sober than he has all night._

_Cas smiles at him. It’s so sad, broken at the corners. “Yeah,” he says again. “It sucks.”_

///

_They spend a week in Corfu. It’s maybe the best week of Dean’s life._

_They don’t look for the Demons. They don’t do much at all. Cas smiles a lot — small, but genuine. It’s nice. It’s perfect._

_They don’t find the Demons in Corfu. The Demons find them._

_///_

_“Come and fight me, you sons of bitches!”_

_“Dean, shut up!” Cas is trying to hold three of them off, his Grace flashing and flaring like fireworks. He’s normally so buttoned-up and well-controlled, but they’re losing the fight and Cas is losing his grip. He told Dean to hide, but Dean can’t let him do this alone. He leaps into the fray, head snapping back as a Demon immediately lands a hit._

_“Is that all you’ve got?” he snarls._

_The Demon blasts him backwards with Corruption and he hits the ground hard._

_“Cas!” he shouts when he gets his breath back. Two more Demons are advancing on him. “You have to let loose!”_

_Cas’s eyes are wide, his Grace manic. “I can’t! I don’t know how!” There are more of them now. They crawl out of the shadows like cockroaches, converging on the boys. Before Dean can stand he’s knocked down again._

_“Cas!” They’re surrounded. They’ll die if Cas doesn’t let loose his Grace. There are so many of them Dean can smell the smoke in the air. “Let go!”_

_Dean reaches out his own hand, closes his eyes, thinks_ Please, God, I don’t know how to do this _and then purposefully lets his mind go blank. He tries to let his Grace take over._

_“Stop him!” a woman’s voice shouts._

_He barely feels the blow to his head, and he doesn’t hear Cas scream his name._

_///_

_Dean knows he’s going to die._

_Alastair wanted Dean from the moment he saw him. That much was clear. He tortures them both, but it’s Dean he really likes to “play” with._

_It’s the middle of the night, Alastair is gone, and Dean can’t feel his toes anymore. It’s so fucking cold in here, and he’s lost so much blood. It wets the dirty mattress beneath him so it squishes every time he dares to move. He doesn’t move much anymore. He can’t._

_Cas is behind him, wrapped around him and trying to keep him warm. He’s trying to be gentle about it, but they’re both bruised and cut in so many places it’s impossible to keep their wounds from touching. But Cas says they have to stay warm or they’ll die. Cas talks a lot now, way more than he ever used to. Maybe it’s to make up for Dean, who never talks at all anymore._

_Alastair doesn’t want to hear them talk. He just wants to hear them scream._

_“My dad’s coming for us,” Cas whispers into his hair. Dean closes his eyes. Cas can say it all night, but it doesn’t make it true. Chuck is coming for_ Cas _, not Dean. By the time he gets here, Dean will be dead._

_Dean’s ready to die if it means leaving this hell. He just wishes Cas didn’t have to watch. Something is broken in his friend, and even though Dean spends his days getting beaten and his nights cold and lethargic and in so much pain it hurts to think, he knows Cas is not much better off. Alastair is focusing on physically torturing Dean, but he’s psychologically torturing Cas._

_“I know he is.” Cas is still whispering. He shifts a little, and his manacled and warded wrists brush against a nasty cut on Dean’s stomach. Dean doesn’t cry out. He doesn’t have the strength to. “Don’t worry, Dean. We’re going to get out of this. You’re going to be fine.”_

No _, Dean thinks._ I’m going to die _._

_Cas kisses the back of his neck and Dean shivers. He wishes Cas had kissed him before all this, when they were swimming in the ocean and Dean splashed him and Cas gave him that brilliant smile before shoving him underwater. He wishes Cas had_ liked _him before all this._

_Dean wishes for a lot of things. He wishes they were safe, wishes Alastair would drop dead, wishes Chuck would rescue them, wishes he could see Sammy and Ellen and Jo and even Dad again. He wishes he could be with Cas for real._

_None of these wishes are going to come true for him._

_///_

_Azazel finally orders Alastair to get it over with. Dean can’t even stand when they come for him. They drag him from the boys’ cell, tie him to a chair. The manacles are off. He’s no longer warded. If he had any strength left at all, he could summon his Grace and break them both out of here._

_He’s not strong enough._

_Alastair comes to him with an iron pipe in his hands. Dean can’t even hold his head up to look at him, but he knows Alastair is smiling. He raises the pipe. Cas starts screaming._

_Dean closes his eyes for the last time._

_///_

_He comes to underwater._

_At first, Dean’s sure he’s dead. This is hell, and he’s drowning. No matter how he kicks and flounders, he can’t seem to find his way to the surface._

_Then a hand reaches in, grabs him under the armpit, and yanks him up._

_For a moment, Dean thinks he’s saved. But when he opens his eyes he sees Alastair smiling down at him._

_“Welcome back, Dean-o.”_

_He feels his own eyes flash to black._

_///_

_Cas is gone. The Demons aren’t._

_Azazel knows who they are. He knows who Halo is. He doesn’t need Dean anymore, so he gives him to Alastair like a present._

_Dean loses track of how many times Alastair kills him. He wakes every time in the Resurrection Pool, and the cycle begins again._

_“You two were so sloppy,” Alastair tells him one day when he’s tied to the operating table Alastair likes to call “the rack.” Alastair is picking through his tools, metal scrapping against metal. “Busted yourselves and Daddy dearest.”_

_“Not my dad,” Dean grits out as Alastair draws a line of blood down his sternum with a scalpel._

_“Oh, we know who your daddy is, too,” Alastair coos. “And little brother. And best friend. And boyfriend. We’ll get to all of them. When the Demons make our return to Purgatory it will be triumphant. Transcendent.”_

_“Or you’ll get your asses handed to you by the Angels again,” Dean says, and Alastair stabs him in the heart._

_///_

_“This is pointless,” Azazel tells Alastair. “He’s been in so many times you’ve ruined him. Look at him.”_

_Dean’s lying on the ground next to the Pool, naked and twitching. He didn’t know it at first, but he’s found the source of Corruption. He swims in it almost every day. Turns out to become a Demon all you need to do is die, then get your corpse pushed into the Resurrection Pool. Easy. Why didn’t they think of this sooner?_

_He groans as another tremor racks his body. His Grace is trying to fight the foreign invasion, but it’s losing ground. No one was meant to be resurrected this often. Even Azazel is eyeing him warily._

_“I’ve never seen a Mark like that,” Azazel says. “It’s growing.”_

_“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Alastair claps his hands together. “I think you’re wrong. He isn’t ruined. He’s being reborn. He’ll be a monster of our own making.”_

_“Or he’ll kill us all,” Azazel snaps. “This ends now, before he’s too Corrupted to stop.”_

_Dean doesn’t see him pull out the gun, but he hears the click of the trigger, the bang of the retort._

_Then nothing._

_///_

_Alastair shouldn’t have taken him back to the Pool._

_Dean knows he did it against Azazel’s orders because the next time he’s resurrected Alastair doesn’t take him to his usual cell. Instead he’s brought straight to the rack. Alastair puts him in shackles and leaves him there with a pat on his cheek and a cheerful, “See you soon, Dean.”_

_The shackles are warded against Grace, but Dean’s full of Corruption now. He snaps them in half, grabs Alastair’s bloody white doctor’s coat and staggers right out of the compound and into the blinding Greek sun._

_No one tries to stop him. No one is there._

_Except—_

_“Well, look at what we have here,” a lilting Scottish accent croons from behind him. Dean whirls around, hands out and ready to fight. His knees shake. The speaker, a woman with brilliant red hair, laughs. “Oh, deary. I don’t think you’re ready for this match.”_

_“Who are you?” Dean demands, and his voice is scratchy and foreign-sounding._

_“An enemy of your enemy, I think,” the woman says. “Which must make me a friend. Now, did you see where the Demons scurried off to? I believe they heard I was coming and ran out on me.” She clicks her tongue. “Quite rude.”_

_Dean sways. He’s so hungry. And_ tired. _He used all the strength he had just to break his bonds, and he’s covered in blood and old scars, and he wants to go_ home _. “I don’t know,” he says, or tries to say, but then he collapses._

_///_

_Her name is Rowena. Rowena MacLeod. She’s come to take a dip in the Resurrection Pool herself. She’s been in it a time or two already, and the Demons are afraid of her — maybe more afraid of her than they are of Chuck. He doesn’t know anyone else who could make Azazel and Alastair run._

_Rowena puts Dean in a hotel with a bed so fancy he feels like he’s sleeping on a cloud. She brings in a doctor to look at his wounds, old and new, orders him room service, and dotes on him like a worried mother._

_“You poor, wee thing,” she murmurs, stroking his hair. She is bad news, and Dean is too tired to be afraid. “A mutt is what you are. I feel it all inside you. Grace, Corruption — I’ve never seen anything like it.”_

_“I need to go home,” he tries to tell her, and Rowena shushes him._

_“Nonsense,” she says. “Your Halo broke in and stole Shield right out from under their noses, but he didn’t save you. He saw what you are. They’ll never take you back now.”_

_Rowena smiles at him. It’s a friendlier smile than Alastair’s, but somehow no less menacing. The worst part is he knows she’s right. He’s corrupted. He’s marked. He’s one of them now. Halo and the Angels would hunt him down. Cas would—_

_It doesn’t matter what Cas would do. Cas left him there. Left with Chuck and left Dean to rot._

_“You don’t have a home anymore,” Rowena tells him, and he believes her. “So I suppose you should come with me.”_

_///_

_He’s not the only stray from the Pool Rowena picks up over the years. Benny is the son of a crime lord, killed by his own father. Charlie is a technological genius, murdered by her employer when she found out he was putting drugs in his company’s food. Rowena collects them for the Pool, and those she saves are loyal to her._

_Or so she thinks._

_Dean does what is asked of him in silence. He works as muscle for over a decade before the MacLeods start to give him more free rein, and then he starts to put his plan into action. Charlie makes their fake backgrounds. She’s a librarian, Benny’s a chef, and Dean is a writer, complete with fake degree and fake portfolio, backed by real stories Charlie’s left scattered across the internet. They’ll blend into Purgatory easily enough when they make it there._

_Rowena’s son Crowley is the one who approves their extended stay in the States. They’re going after Roman Inc., they tell him. They’ll establish a contract between Roman and the MacLeods, and then they’ll steal the goods out from under Roman’s nose. The MacLeods will get all their weapons for free. Halo will take down Roman for them once he finds out about the arms dealing. Crowley is predictably happy with this plan. He’s a businessman, first and foremost._

_Crowley’s not thinking about the Demons. But Dean knows they’re out there. He’s seen signs of them in other jobs over the years, in other crimes he knows the MacLeods didn’t commit. Chuck didn’t get them all. And if any of them were slippery enough to escape, Alastair was leading the pack. Dean’s sure of it._

_Roman’s hired Demons before, back when Halo was new on the scene, before the vigilante took over Purgatory and drove them out. He’ll turn to them for protection again now the old Halo is long gone, and he’ll lead them right to Dean._

_And Dean will kill them._

_It’s a solid plan. Even Charlie agrees, and Charlie has a healthy skepticism toward most of Dean’s ideas. The only real problem will be the new Halo._

_The only real problem will be_ Cas _._


	17. Legacy Implosion

A full day has passed with no sign of Hellfire.

_Dean. Dean Smith. Dean Winchester. Hellfire._ All the same person.

Cas’s head hurts. He’s rubbed at his temples so often in the last 24 hours he’s probably going to go bald at the edges of his hairline.

“You should go to bed.” It’s Balthazar who says it, surprisingly enough. He’s lounging on the plush settee in the middle of the hallway eating grapes. Anna sits rigidly next to him, her old batons laid across her lap. Cas is the only one standing up, leaning against a portrait of their great-great-grandfather that takes up the entire wall.

“I’ll sleep when this is over,” he says. Claire tried to get him to sleep last night, too. At least that’s better than trying to get him to talk. The kids are in bed now, but only because Cas promised Claire would get to take any calls from Jody with Jack as remote backup in place of Anna.

The Shurley siblings, however, won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Have you told Chuck?” Balth asks, glancing down the hall before throwing a grape up and catching it in his mouth. Anna eyes him with disdain.

“No.”

“Why not? Seems like something he should know. ‘Hey, Dad, remember that kid you left behind with the Demons in Greece? He’s back and he’s going to kill you.’ Easy enough.”

“Then you talk to him,” Cas snaps, pushing off the wall to pace.

“No one is talking to Chuck,” Anna says, looking between her brothers. “We have no idea how he’d react to this. I doubt it would go well.”

“Like any of us care how Chuck feels.”

“I care about having to clean up his messes after he goes off again,” Cas says with finality. Balthazar raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment otherwise. The last time Chuck lost control he caught five rooms in this wing of the manor on fire. None of them want a repeat incident.

Cas continues to pace, lost in thought.

_Chuck’s face in Halo’s mask, looming over him. Chuck breaks the manacles, picks Cas up off the filthy mattress. Cas can’t resist groaning as Chuck’s hands dig into his tender skin. “Where is Dean?” Chuck asks, or demands. It’s all the same with his father. Cas starts crying. He doesn’t answer._

_“We can’t fight our way out of here with you like this,” Chuck whispers, tone harsh, “so keep quiet.”_

_The details of their escape are lost on him. He must pass out. The jet ride home is also a blur. Cas remembers nothing until the point when Jo screams as Chuck tells them Dean is dead. Anna holds her and Ellen, tears streaming down their faces. Balthazar walks out, but Sam runs. Cas should go after him, but he can barely walk. He knows Chuck and John are yelling at each other in some other room, but he can’t make out anything they’re saying._

_Dean is dead. Nothing else matters._

_The Winchesters leave the manor the next day, and Cas never hears from either of them again._

_Once he’s recovered, Chuck pulls him aside for a mission. “We’re going back to Greece,” he says, grim. “They know who we are, Castiel. We have to wipe them out. All of them.”_

_“All of them.”_ Why would he need to say that?

“Do you think he knew Dean was alive?” Cas asks, stopping in front of his siblings.

“Yes,” Balthazar says.

Anna sighs. “I don’t know.”

Cas’s heart sinks. Could Chuck have kept this from him? He knows Anna did. She clearly had her suspicions after meeting Dean, and she kept them to herself. He turns to his sister.

“You knew,” Cas says. “As soon as you saw him.”

She shifts uncomfortably. “I had an— idea. He looked vaguely familiar on television, but when I saw those eyes up close…I hoped it was all in my head.”

“But you told Balth.”

“She just wanted back-up in case things went sideways, Cassie. Which they did.”

Cas shakes his head and resumes his pacing. Good to know everyone is keeping secrets from him. Dean, Anna, and Balthazar. His own father has probably been keeping a secret that’s going to take them all down. Cas feels his Grace flaring like he’s a teenager with no control, and he takes a deep breath to try and steady himself.

“I hoped I was wrong,” Anna says quietly, and Cas says, “I know.” Because he’d forgive his sister for anything, even this. He won’t forgive Chuck, though. He looks down the hallway toward the door to his father’s rooms, and he can tell his siblings are looking, too.

The man who loomed so large throughout their childhood and early adulthood is hidden behind a door as they protect him from a threat he created. Cas can’t believe it’s all come to this.

“Dad would fuck up and leave this on us,” Balthazar mutters, and Cas can’t help but agree.

They were always a shitty family, anyway, held together with Grace and bandages. Dean Winchester’s death already unraveled everything. Why shouldn’t his resurrection do the same?

///

They’re sitting silently next to each other on the settee when Ellen finds them.

“Well.” She puts her hands on her hips. It reminds Cas of a thousand lectures when they were younger, after they’d broken something valuable or beaten up on each other too hard in training. All three siblings cower slightly. “What are you three doing here when you should be in bed?” She turns to Cas. “Or out saving the city? You know Claire is on patrol with only Jack behind a computer screen for back-up, right?”

“We’re just catching up,” Balthazar lies.

“Mmmhmm.” Ellen’s never been fooled by Balth. She doesn’t take her hands off her hips. “Cas, your friend is at the gate. Should I buzz him in?”

Anna and Balthazar stiffen, wedging Cas even tighter between them like two brick walls. For all the faults in their relationship (especially his and Balth’s), he knows they’ll have his back. Now and always.

Cas clears his throat. “Go ahead. And please take the night off, Ellen. I’ll go meet him at the door.”

Ellen is a smart woman. She also practically raised them. Cas can see her eyes roving over each of their faces in turn, frown locked in place. She knows they’re up to something. She’s deciding whether to force them to admit it or not.

In the end, she chooses to let them off the hook. Cas watches her eyes rest on Chuck’s door, narrow, and then soften when she looks back at him. “I’ll buzz him in. I’ll be right next door if you need me.”

“We know,” Anna says, and Ellen shakes her head. As she walks away, Cas hears her mutter, “Still like a bunch of kids…”

They watch Ellen disappear into one of the back hallways, Anna and Balthazar still pressed against Cas. None of them move to get up. Balthazar’s foot taps a rough staccato against the marble floor. Cas feels like his throat is closing up.

“Are you going to go talk to him?” Anna asks, twisting her hands in her lap.

“No. He’ll make his own way up here. He knows where to go.”

What is there to say, anyway? _You lied to me. You let me believe you were someone you aren’t._ Cas did the same thing. _But I told you the truth, and you didn’t trust me enough to respond in kind_. But had he ever earned Dean’s trust? Cas was an asshole to him when they were children, and then he unknowingly left Dean behind. Left Dean to Alastair. His breathing quickens, and Balthazar and Anna each place a hand on his arms to stop him from shaking.

Like Cas predicted, it doesn’t take long for Dean to find them.

He enters at the far end of the corridor, illuminated by the moonlight streaming from the large, open windows and the lamps lining the hall. He’s in all black, but there’s no mask this time. Two people step out from the darkness behind him. A man, thick and burly with a dark beard, and a woman, slight with short-cropped red hair a shade brighter than Anna’s. The barista and the librarian. Hellfire’s teammates.

Somehow, he’s standing. Anna and Balthazar flank him. Just like old times.

Dean stalks toward them.

“Cas,” he says quietly. “Anna, Balthazar.” He nods at the others. “Looks like the old gang is back together. Chuck’s Angels.”

Cas hears Anna suck in a quivering breath next to him. He should speak. He’s Halo. He’s in charge. Except that he isn’t, not even a little bit, and he’s never been the leader any of them needed. He couldn’t keep the team, the _family_ , together, he’s ostracizing his kids, and he couldn’t save the man in front of them. All his failures under one roof. Cas looks at Dean and Dean stares back, and he can’t move.

“You could have told us you were alive,” Balth says, breaking the silence.

“No. I couldn’t.” Dean’s eyes flash to black with a faint glimmer of sparking blue underneath, and Cas feels it like a gut punch. “Where is he?” Dean stares directly at Cas. “I know he’s here.”

Cas chokes out, “You _died_ ,” and Dean’s head jerks back in surprise. His eyes revert to green. The redhead — Charlie the librarian — looks at Dean with a pinched expression.

“Cas,” Dean says, and his voice is rough. “I need you to stand aside.”

“No.” He’s shaking. It’s as if all the adrenaline he’s ever felt in his life is coursing through his limbs now. “I can’t.”

Dean is upset by this. He shakes his head, says, “He doesn’t deserve your protection.”

“I know.” It should be freeing to admit this, but all Cas feels is the thrumming of his heart, so loud as it beats faster, and the tingle of Grace in his fingertips. “But he’s my father and he can’t defend himself. There’s no honor in you killing him, Dean. He’s not half the man he used to be.”

Dean’s face is unreadable when he asks, “Did Chuck know I was alive?”

Cas takes a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

Dean shifts his feet into a fighting stance, and Cas braces himself. “Then I’m going to find out. You can let me by, or we can go through you.”

He brings his own shaking hands up. He sees Anna and Balthazar follow in his periphery. Dean closes his eyes. When they open, they’re back to that disturbing mix of blue and black.

“Have it your way,” Dean says, and then he raises one fist and brings it down to the floor between them.

Cas knows to leap up this time, avoiding the shockwave that reverberates through the hall. Anna and Balthazar aren’t as quick, and they’re flung back. He doesn’t have time to worry about them. Dean takes a swing at him, and Cas pushes him back with his Grace. The fight is on.

“Come on, Cas!” Dean's eyes are magnetic like this, flickering blue and black, and he’s so caught off by them that Cas almost misses Dean’s fist coming at him. He manages to dodge by ducking low at the last second, and Dean’s fist goes straight through the portrait of his great-grandfather. “I don’t want to fight you!”

Cas tries to sweep Dean’s legs out from under him while he’s down, but Dean jumps over him. Cas sends out his own shockwave of Grace, catching Dean off guard as he lands. The floor cracks under him, and Dean nearly goes to his knees. He catches himself, pushes off, and starts running down the corridor. Cas aims a blast of Grace at his shoulder, but Dean must feel the static charge around it, because he turns and dissipates it with a wall of smoke.

Cas has never seen anyone but yellow-eyed Demons do that.

Dean is now on the wrong side of the hall, closer to Chuck’s wing than he is to Cas. Anna and Balthazar are taking on Charlie and the burly man, and Cas knows stopping Dean is all on him. He hears the glass in the chandeliers start to shatter as he lets loose another wave of Grace, this time hitting Dean square in the chest.

Dean absorbs the shock with his hands and tries to deflect it back at Cas, but he’s falling and aims wide, sending it crashing into a window. Glass shatters down around them as the chandeliers fall and the window breaks.

Dean is down now, bleeding from cuts on his hands and face, and if Cas let loose, he could end this.

He can’t.

Instead, he slams both hands out with a snarl, and his Grace rips through the corridor at chest height, breaking vases and mirrors and scattering more shards over Dean, who has to duck his head under his arms to keep his face safe. Cas slams his foot down, and another wave moves through the floor. Dean just manages to stop it with his own counter-wave, and Cas starts to run toward him.

Dean’s eyes are jet black when he unleashes a ball of smoke that slams Cas to the ground. He tastes the blood in his mouth and feels the glass cutting into his skin as he rolls to try to absorb the impact. Balthazar yells and he feels the spark of Anna’s Grace surging above his head as she attempts to stop Dean while still fighting Charlie.

It’s no use. He’s back on his feet, and Dean easily deflects her blow before disappearing into the door at the end of the hall.

“Fuck,” Cas whispers. He pushes himself off the glass-covered floor, wincing as a shard gets stuck in his palm, and starts to run.

He slams into the room not ten seconds behind Dean and nearly runs into the other man. But Dean isn’t attacking. He’s just standing there, still and silent, at the end of a California king bed. In that bed, looking so terribly small under the mounds of blankets, lies Chuck, blinking in confusion.

“Ah,” Chuck says, “I know you.”

Cas takes a step forward, ready to get between Dean and his father, but Chuck holds up a wrinkled hand.

“Dean Winchester,” he says, and he sounds genuinely surprised. His lips twitch under his bushy graying beard. “I see you’ve been in the Pool. I have to say, that was a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”

Dean’s face is emotionless as he asks, “So you didn’t know?”

Chuck’s eyes rove over Dean, more curious than guilty. If there were any more tension in Cas’s spine it would snap in two. His father’s brow furrows, and Cas sees Dean’s hands clench at his side.

“No,” Chuck says finally. “I thought they’d killed you and were done with it. I saw no sign of you when I found the Pool, in any case.”

Chuck leans forward, his robe falling open to reveal his skinny, hallowed chest. “You came out better than me, I’d say.”

“What?” Cas asks, utterly lost. Chuck turns to him for the first time.

“Castiel,” he says, as if he’s just now registered which of his children is in the room with them. “He’s been in the Resurrection Pool. The source of Corruption. You did find it in Greece. You just didn’t know it.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Cas asks again, mind spinning. His father simply tilts his head with a smile. “You never said anything about a Resurrection Pool!”

Face twisted with disgust, Dean says, “Because he wanted to hide that he’s been in it, too. Haven’t you?”

Chuck raises an eyebrow. Dean points a finger at Chuck’s chest, and Cas follows it. There, in the center of his now prominent collarbone, is a rounded burn mark Cas has seen a hundred times while helping his father get dressed. He’s always thought it was a bullet wound or a scar from a highly localized Corruption blast.

“The Mark,” Chuck says with a sigh. “Do they still call it the Mark of Cain? It doesn’t matter. They all have it. _We_ all have it.”

Dean’s lips pull back as he snarls, “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

Chuck picks idly at a stray string on the comforter as he says, “I found what I was looking for, thanks to you two. And I took what I wanted.”

“Someone tell me what is going on, _now_ ,” Cas snaps, and Dean says, “You didn’t even tell _Cas_?”

Chuck throws his hands up in the air and Grace sparks in an arc around him. Out of sheer instinct, Cas grabs Dean’s shoulder and pulls him back, positioning himself between Dean and Chuck in the same way he’s put his body between Chuck and his siblings a dozen times in the last fifteen years.

“I sent you two to Greece because I needed you to find the source of the Demons’ power,” Chuck says, watching the sparks he creates trail behind his hands, careless. “I had an idea — a stupid idea — to test on you both.”

Cas’s heartbeat is loud in his ears. Dean’s shoulder tenses under his hand.

“People are born with Grace, but I’d learned that Corruption was something you could _gain_ ,” Chuck says. “Only the Demons don’t call it that. They call it the Mark of Cain. It was clear they earned this mark not in Purgatory, but somewhere far outside my normal reach. So I sent you to find it.” Chuck’s wandering hands catch the bedspread on fire, and he puts it out with a snap of his fingers. “I’d heard rumors of Azazel’s Resurrection Pool. Rumors that if you died and they put you in the waters you’d come out _better._ Stronger. I wanted you both to go into the Pool.” He laughs, an oddly jolting sound, and Cas’s hand grips Dean’s shoulder tighter. “No one had ever combined Grace and Corruption before. I imagined the _power_. I imagined you two replacing the sons I’d lost. _They_ had natural talent. You two were the closest I had to them, but you needed a boost.” As if he’s bored with it all, Chuck says, “So I dropped some hints to the right people and got you into their compound.”

Cas sees red.

“ _You_ ,” he says, chest heaving. His eyes flare white-blue, and his own Grace crackles from his fists. “You _fucking lunatic_! You _absolute bastard_! You ruined our goddamn lives!”

And for the first time in his life, Cas stands up to his father — by shooting a flaming blue ball of Grace directly at his head.

Chuck catches it in his hands, and that’s when Cas sees his father’s eyes turn black with that undercurrent of blue. Just like Dean. Chuck throws the blast back, aiming for Cas. Dean yells, “Enough!” and cuts right through the counterattack with the chop of a hand. The room fills with smoke that Dean quickly sweeps away with a wave.

“Tell me, Chuck — when you went after the Demons, was it to avenge me?” he asks, putting one hand on Cas’s chest to hold him back. Cas’s Grace is still thrumming, ready to let go. Chuck watches them impassively, eyes back to normal again. “Or was it so you could try out the Pool yourself?”

“I killed Azazel for what he did, then I got into the Pool and slit my own throat,” he says casually. “Cathartic, really — to die and come back more alive. It felt better than when I took Azazel’s power and crushed his skull.”

Cas has never in his life wanted to make this man bleed as much as he does right now. He can’t believe he never saw what his father really was after he came back from Greece. The mood swings and temper tantrums, burning down buildings and terrifying his own children before they locked him away for his safety and theirs — it wasn’t just that Chuck lost control of his Grace after he took out the Demons. No, he was corrupted through and through, and by his own hand.

Worse, he was corrupt before he ever stole the Demons’ power.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Dean,” Chuck continues, voice flat and bland. “This kind of power, the kind you die to get — it’s worth it.” His breath itself sparks as he speaks, and Cas thinks _I hate you_ with a viciousness he’d previously reserved for Alastair _._

Dean’s fuming — he can see smoke leaking out of Dean’s nostrils and mouth, a furious display to match Chuck’s calm one — but it’s Cas who speaks. “You’re not worth it,” he says. “Not worth my loyalty or the mask you wore. You sent us there to _die._ ”

“I saved you,” Chuck says. The veins in his neck and around his eyes glow blue, but Cas won’t be deceived anymore. It’s not just Grace inside him. “I didn’t put you in the Pool even when I had the chance! I took you out of there! I took on the risk myself!”

“You don’t get a reward for rescuing me from the monsters you fed me to,” Cas snarls. His Grace flares, and this time Dean doesn’t do anything to hold him back. His voice drops, distorted into Halo’s as he says, “I’m done protecting you. Dean can do whatever he wants to you. You deserve it.”

Then he turns on his heel and walks out on the man who abandoned him long ago.


	18. Thou Shalt Not Kill

When he walks out into the hallway the others are waiting for him, all four of them leaning against the wall as if they hadn’t just been engaged in brutal hand-to-hand combat against each other. Anna rushes forward to grab his face, holding it between her hands.

“What happened?” she demands. “We heard you shouting at Chuck.”

Cas wants to collapse into her arms, but he holds himself up. He’s Halo. The only Halo. He can’t be weak.

“Chuck is—” A horrible father and mentor. A menace. A liar. A psychopath. All of the above. Cas can’t even begin to put into words what he knows now. Anna holds him tighter. “He knew exactly what he was doing. He sent us there to be Corrupted, Anna. He— He…”

She pulls him in, and he can only resist so much. He lets his head fall onto her shoulder and lets his sister shield him. It’s a shock to feel Balthazar’s hand come to rest on top of his head, but Cas doesn’t move. He’s exhausted and furious and confused, and he wishes he could just go to sleep and forget all of this. They surround him the way they used to when the three of them fought crime together, a couple of kids against the world. He wishes they could go back.

They can’t.

He hears Dean walk out of Chuck’s room and close the door. He lifts his head and turns around, ignoring Anna’s red eyes. Dean looks as tired as Cas feels, slumping against the wall. Charlie and the burly man both move toward him, but he shakes his head.

“I’m fine.” He looks up, straight at Cas. His eyes are green again, bruised underneath in a way that makes it clear he’s not fine at all. “He told me where Alastair is in exchange for his life.”

Cas takes in a shaky breath. He doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed, and he doesn’t have the energy to dissect his feelings right now. He can’t even feel shocked that Chuck knew where Alastair was all along. “So you’re leaving?”

“He gave me what I wanted — the truth. I’m done with him.” The _I’m done with you_ is unspoken. “You’ve already got him locked in warded rooms; I don’t need to take him out. His Corruption isn’t strong enough to break free. He must have only been in the Pool once.”

“Corruption?” Anna and Balthazar ask at the same time, but Cas doesn’t respond to them.

“Where is Alastair?”

“No, Cas, you’re not coming with—”

“Don’t act like I don’t have a right to this, too!”

Dean blinks, taken aback. “What about your code, huh? ‘Thou shalt not kill?’ You were all set on getting to Hellfire before I could take out the bad guys, and now you want to help kill Alastair?”

“Yes,” Cas hisses, and Anna grips his elbow.

Dean’s jaw clenches. “No. I won’t let you.”

Cas throws a wild shot of Grace at him, and Dean deflects it easily. Cas should really know this move by now — after all, Dean’s already done this to him twice — but somehow, the blast of the smoke bomb Dean throws back at him still catches them all off guard.

Anna and Balthazar are coughing behind his back. Cas’s ears ring and his lungs strain, but he narrows his eyes and searches the haze with his Grace for any sign of Dean and his companions. Nothing. They probably jumped out through one of the hall’s broken windows.

He grabs his siblings by the hand and pulls them to a side stairwell so they can catch their breath.

Balthazar takes a moment to breathe before he asks, “What the hell was he talking about? Dad has Corruption?”

Cas leans forward, hands on his knees. His eyes are tearing up. He doesn’t know if it’s from the smoke, frustration, or the overall emotional turmoil of the night. Cas rubs at his eyes and clears his throat.

He tells his siblings everything.

///

Balthazar looks like he wants to go back into Chuck’s rooms and finish what Dean started, but he settles for punching a hole in the wall. Anna slides down to her knees, tears running down her cheeks.

“I didn’t know,” she says, and Cas squeezes her shoulder.

“None of us did. We didn’t even know it was possible, Anna. Don’t beat yourself up.”

She blinks up at him, lower lip quivering. “No, Castiel. You don’t understand.” Her mouth opens and closes, like she’s having trouble speaking. “I— I _helped_ him.”

“What?” Balthazar asks, and Cas stares at her. Anna lets out a hiccuping sob, pressing her fist against her mouth.

“Chuck asked me to—” She takes a shuddering breath. “Dad asked me for a favor when he came back from Greece. Cas, Balth, I promise if I’d known about... all of this... I wouldn’t have listened to him. I would have told—”

“What did you do?” Cas asks, voice low.

Through her tears Anna says, “I know where Alastair is.”

///

There’s a lot more to the cave system under Purgatory than Cas ever knew. He’s going to feel bitter about that later. There are so many secrets between them all, and he doesn’t have time to worry about them now.

It’s another sea cave, because of course it is. This one has no beach even at low tide. The entry is just a small crevice carved into the cliffside. Cas steers the boat to it and casts the anchor down, then jumps into the chilly sea.

Charlie and the burly man are waiting for him just inside the cave entrance, their helmets at their feet. Cas clambers to his feet, soaked and exhausted and still bruised from his fight with Dean, but he puts his hands up in a ready stance. Charlie and the man exchange a loaded look. They step aside.

Cas rubs saltwater away from his eyes. “What’s happening?”

Charlie jerks her head back toward the darkness of the cave. “He’s in there.”

“You’re just going to let me pass?” he asks, incredulous.

“Dean needs you,” Charlie says simply. “And we’re tired of acting like bad guys. So go get your man.”

Cas hesitates, and she waves her hands at him. “Go! He’s probably already found Alastair!”

He walks past them, wary eyes darting between his former opponents. The burly man nods, and Charlie gives him a light push. Cas runs.

The cave is dark and damp, and he slips a few times even when using his Grace to keep balance. The walls seem to close in the further he gets from the mouth, and Cas finds himself turning sideways more than once to squeeze through an opening not meant for a man his size. The rough stone of the walls scrapes against his back, and he’s glad he forwent the wingsuit. It would get torn to shreds in here. How his father and Anna managed to get Alastair here in the first place he has no idea.

Deep within the cave, he hears a familiar, ugly cackle.

_“It’s tiiiime,” Alastair sings, swinging the crowbar. Cas sits up with a jolt. They didn’t hook his manacles to the wall the last time they threw him back into the cell, and he’s been trying to keep Dean warm all night by lying behind him, wrapped around him. Dean’s heartbeat is worryingly slow, his breathing sluggish and labored. He doesn’t even move when Cas faces Alastair._

_“Don’t,” is all Cas says, then Alastair sends his head cracking against the stone wall of the cell with a wave of his hand. Cas’s whole body sways, threatening to crumple as he fights the darkness at the edge of his vision. Alastair’s cronies are yanking Dean out of his arms, and Cas isn’t strong enough to resist._

_“Don’t,” he begs, and he falls to his knees when he tries to face off against them. His Grace, as always, refuses to respond with the wards biting into his wrists. “Don’t, take me. Take me!”_

_Alastair laughs. He takes the crowbar and slams it against the bars of their cell, and it seems like Cas can feel the rattle of the bars shaking in his teeth._

_“I don’t want you,” Alastair tells him, and they drag Dean to the chair._

Cas takes slow, purposeful breaths. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. He shoves his body through the wedge of rocks and into the wider tunnel. Somewhere ahead of him, Alastair says, “Dean, Dean, Dean.”

A grim response. “Alastair.”

Cas can’t run — the floor is too pitted and slick, and the edges of the cave too close for comfort. But he starts to walk as fast as he can, ducking under stalactites and jumping over puddles that might just be the ocean coming through.

“Righteous Man,” Alastair taunts, “I thought I’d never see your pretty face again.”

Cas knows the sound of flesh on flesh when he hears it — the soft _thud_ of a well-aimed punch, the grunt as the recipient absorbs it. Alastair laughs again, sounding out of breath.

“You can do better than that, Dean-o! Surely you learned something from our time together!”

The crack of a foot connecting with ribs. Alastair groans, but there’s a grin in it. Cas is getting closer. “Come to find me after all these years, and you have nothing to say for yourself?” Dean punches him again, and again, and again.

Cas rounds a corner, and he sees them. Finally.

There’s a small cell built into the rounded stone walls of the cave with an overturned cot on one end and a crude bathroom on the other. The bars and stone are covered in runes Cas recognizes as Demonic warding — Corruption draining. Alastair can’t use his, but unless these runes are as specific as those he put into Chuck’s rooms then Dean has no control over his own Corruption, either.

Maybe he doesn’t need it. Dean looms over Alastair in the center of the cell, hands in fists at his side. Alastair is on the ground, curled into himself with his hands clutching at his stomach. His bloodied face turns toward Cas and he smiles. His teeth are cracked and yellow, and Cas’s Grace surges at the sight of him.

“The boy hero,” Alastair croons. Dean jerks his head around, eyes widening when he sees Cas. “All of us together again, just like old times.” He laughs again, that infernal sound that haunts Cas’s nightmares, and Cas feels the sparks in his fingertips. “Look at you! A full-grown Halo! Every bit as righteous as this one, with hands just as bloody.” Alastair rolls onto an elbow, sitting halfway up and staring up at Dean. “Did he tell you how many he killed in his rampage to avenge you? Did he tell you he and Daddy destroyed my people?”

“Shut up,” Dean snaps, the first thing he’s said since he greeted Alastair, kicking the Demon’s arm and sending him falling onto his face. Cas steps forward, torn between joining in and staying back to see what Dean will do now that he has his tormentor trapped in front of him.

“Why do you think I’m locked in here?” Alastair rolls over, moaning but still grinning somehow. “To keep the little Shield from killing me. To keep him from getting a taste of the power I wield.”

“Shut up!” Cas says, and Alastair rolls his eyes.

“Halo found out what Corruption was when he murdered Azazel. He didn’t just kill him — he _absorbed_ him. I think you’ve done the same,” he says to Dean. “Don’t think I couldn’t feel a bit of Dagon when you walked in! Do you think the only way we get more power is by killing _ourselves?_ How quaint. It’s a Demon-eat-Demon world out there!”

Dean kicks him again, and Alastair spits out blood. It smears across his cracked lips. “Halo was going _bad_ with the Mark, not mad,” he says, “and he knew you’d rip my heart out with your teeth if you had the chance.” He’s speaking to Cas, his eyes pure white. Cas shivers in spite of himself. “Don’t you want to do it now, my broken Shield? Don’t you want to show the Righteous Man how sorry you are you left him behind _with me_?”

And Cas does want to kill him. He’s dreamed of killing Alastair for fifteen years, dreamed of having Dean’s place in that cell, of looking into those white eyes and that rictus grin and melting that hideous face away with his Grace.

Justice or just revenge — does it even matter which? Cas accused Chuck of ruining their lives, but it was Alastair who truly took everything away from them both. How many sleepless nights and how many panic attacks has the mere thought of this man given him? How inadequate has he felt — as a hero, as a father, as a friend, as a _person_ — because he couldn’t stop Alastair all those years ago?

_“Is Dean Winchester the reason why you’re so protective of Jack and me?”_ No. Alastair is the reason. And Cas doesn’t want to be haunted by him anymore.

He looks at Dean to find him staring back. In his eyes, still green, Cas sees all his pain reflected back at him. They may be nothing to each other now, but Cas can show him this respect. Alastair tortured them both, but he _murdered_ Dean.

Cas won’t stand in his way. He nods to Dean. _Whatever you want_.

Dean reaches for his belt and pulls out a gun. Its barrel is long and thin, an old Colt model. When Dean cocks the trigger, the barrel begins to glow. Cas can’t make out the runes on the gun from where he stands, but he sees how Alastair’s eyes widen as Dean presses the muzzle to his forehead.

“Rowena MacLeod’s expanded her collection, hasn’t she?”

“Say goodbye, Alastair.” Dean’s face is blank as he gives the order.

Alastair doesn’t oblige. He closes his eyes, a faint smirk on his lips. “Do it.”

Cas stares at that smirk, so familiar. _Don’t you want to do it now?_ And he realizes they’re being baited. “Wait—” he starts, but Dean spins the chamber and pulls the trigger. Even Alastair flinches.

Nothing happens.

Dean pulls the gun away, and Alastair stares down the barrel. Dean rolls out the chamber, and Cas sees it’s empty save for one bullet at the bottom.

“Try again?” Alastair taunts, but Dean rolls the chamber back and tucks the gun into his belt.

“Nah,” he says with an ease Cas knows is faked. “I just hadn’t made up my mind yet. But I remember you pretty well, Alastair. I know what you look like when you think you’re winning. You want to die because it’s your only way out of here.” He leans down, getting into Alastair’s face. The Demon bares his teeth. “I think I’ll leave you to rot instead.”

Alastair lunges at Dean then, but Cas is faster. He outstretches his hand and sends Alastair flying back to land in a heap against the wall at the far end of the cell. Dean steps out and closes the barred door, locking it back in place.

“Coward,” Alastair spits, still crumpled on the ground as Dean walks away. “You’re as weak as you were back then! I hope you come back someday, _Righteous Man_! I’d love the chance to bathe in your blood again! I dream of ripping you apart limb from limb, my favorite pet! Then I put you back in the Pool, and we start all over again!”

Cas follows Dean out of the cave, Alastair’s frantic taunts echoing in his ears. Dean doesn’t look back, and neither does he.


	19. Not the Fall That Kills You

They walk in silence toward the mouth of the cave. The air around them reeks of salt instead of dirt, and Cas takes in a deep breath. Back to Purgatory. Back to his life. He watches a bead of sweat trail down the nape of Dean’s neck, and he wants to ask Dean, “What now?” But he has a feeling he’s going to have to answer that question for himself.

Dean stops before they’ve reached the ocean. He half-turns so one eye is on Cas.

“I’m going to put up a fight if you try to take them in,” he says, so quietly Cas almost misses it. “They were just trying to help me.”

Cas thinks of Charlie’s unwavering loyalty. _He needs you_. “I know.”

“Look.” Dean slumps against the cave wall. “I’m not apologizing for what I did as Hellfire, except for what happened to Jack.” He looks Cas in the eye, finally. “I didn’t mean for him to get hurt. I thought you were out of the warehouse. It was an accident, and I am sorry for it. Truly.”

“Okay.” Cas pushes aside the image of Jack’s face, red and crumpled in pain, so he doesn’t lose control of his Grace again and do something terrible to Dean. “You said anything you did as Hellfire?”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. “I’m sorry for a lot of things I did as Dean Smith.”

“Like lying to me?”

“Like lying to you after I realized you didn’t just abandon me to Alastair,” Dean clarifies. “When you told me about... _me_ , I thought about telling you the truth.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’d come too far, Cas. You didn’t know where Alastair was, that much was clear. But you did know where Chuck was.”

Cas takes this in, heart sinking. He was right. “So you were using me to get to my father.”

Dean bites his lip and huffs air through his nose. “Yes.”

“Are you sorry about that?”

“Yes,” Dean says again, speaking to the dampened cave wall. “You’re a good person. A better person than him. I thought—” He rubs a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of dirt on his forehead. “I thought you’d be a carbon copy of Chuck, and I was wrong. It made this a hell of a lot harder.”

Cas is not going to take any comfort in that. He refuses. “Where are the weapons you stole from Roman?”

Dean sighs. “Like I said in the video, we blew them up. The MacLeods lost; Roman lost. I was on your side. You might not agree with all my methods, but we got shit done.”

“And you single-handedly brought the Demons back into Purgatory by provoking them,” Cas snaps. “What was your plan for after all this, Dean? You expected Alastair to show up sooner, and he didn’t. Were you going to kill all the other Demons by yourself, let their power infect you the way it infected Chuck? Or were you going to track down Chuck, force him to admit where Alastair was, and then fuck off and leave them to me? And what if he hadn’t known where Alastair was? What then? What if Alastair was dead all along?”

“I don’t expect you to understand—”

“I do understand!” Cas forces himself to exhale. If he yells, the others will hear everything. “I was there, too. What happened to you _killed_ me in every way but the literal sense. I have spent the rest of my life trying to make up for failing you. If you’d come to me from the beginning, I would have helped you!”

“You fought me to keep me from Chuck!” Dean snaps, eyes flaring.

“When I thought you were going to kill him in cold blood! My loyalty isn’t to him, Dean, and I think that’s very clear at this point.”

“No, but your loyalty is to a certain order,” Dean says, pushing off the wall and drawing up to his full height, facing Cas head-on. “I meant what I said as Hellfire — Halo works within a broken system. The only reason you let me aim that gun at Alastair is because you thought you _owed_ it to me. I’m sure it never occurred to you that it might be just for him to die.”

“It did.” Cas’s face is heating, his Grace roiling. “Don’t try to put thoughts in my head. I considered the costs, here. I know what he did to you. I let you decide, and you didn’t kill him because you thought he’d suffer worse trapped in a cell. Is that more just?”

“If you disagree, then _you_ can go kill him.” Dean waves a hand toward the tunnel. “You could take him out with your Grace and be done with it.”

“I don’t disagree.” Cas groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know what is just here. I don’t know, I— I hate him. That’s it. I hate him for what he’s done to you. To us.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly, slumping back against the stone.

“And you were right,” Cas continues. “You were right about _me_ in a lot of ways — about the money, and the Foundation, and even the effectiveness of Halo… Sometimes I feel like I’m beating my head against a wall trying to save this city from men like Roman who seem to walk free no matter what they do. Maybe it isn’t enough. Maybe I don’t do enough. But Dean, I _live_ here. I have to think about what effect my actions will cause — I could never do something to provoke the Demons to come back. I could never accept the collateral damage. You got lucky on that bus. What would you have done if they’d started killing civilians?”

“I would have stopped them,” Dean insists. “I was already going to blow my cover, give myself up as Hellfire. Then you showed up. You know I care about the people of this city.”

“But do you care about Hellfire more?” Cas presses. “I don’t mean the mask, I mean what it represents to you: the revenge you’ve been waiting for.”

“Do you care about Halo more?” Dean shoots right back. “You waited and waited for Roman to slip up in an obvious way, and all that time he was hurting people right under your nose. Have you heard of SucroCorp? He was _poisoning_ food he wanted to mass produce with sedatives, and Charlie caught him. He murdered her for it. He’d probably still be producing that shit if Dagon hadn’t killed him. So why did you wait to go after him, if not to protect Halo’s reputation as a peacekeeper first and foremost? Is your inaction not accepting collateral damage?”

“I didn’t know about SucroCorp or Charlie,” Cas says, dumbfounded. Is that how she died? He supposes it makes sense, since she has Corruption as well. He wonders who put her in the Resurrection Pool. “I— I’ve been distracted. With the kids, with you, with my own trauma, and I— I’ve been too comfortable in the role I was left to really break out of Chuck’s mold. I’m not proactive enough.”

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I know you do help. I know you try. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you were just standing by watching people get hurt on purpose.”

“And I’m sorry for implying you’d be fine with collateral damage. I watched you on the bus, rescuing people. I know you try, too.” Cas rubs at his temple. “We both do. So if my issue is hesitation, then yours is… recklessness.”

Dean huffs a laugh, then sighs heavily, the fight going out of him. “We’d make a good team if we had the chance. Strike a good balance.”

“Yeah,” Cas mutters, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Like old times.”

Dean looks back toward the mouth of the cave. He holds himself so tensely, like he’s ready to bolt at any second. Cas wants to ask him not to leave, but he knows it would be pointless. Dean’s not his to keep. Not anymore. He rubs at his arm, and Cas almost asks if he needs healing before he goes, but he bites his tongue.

“I won’t stop them,” he says. “Or you. As Halo, I’ll thank Hellfire publicly for assisting in taking down the crime syndicates of Purgatory. You’re right — our methods are different, but our goals were the same. I’m not condoning what happened with Dagon on the beach, but... I know you’re still a hero. The Corruption doesn’t change that, Dean.”

Dean stares at him.

“You should go,” Cas says. “The rest of the MacLeods aren’t going to be far behind you, I’d assume.”

“Cas—” For a moment, there's an eighteen-year-old Dean in front of him, wide-eyed and lovely, and Cas thinks _I’m sorry_ to a boy who died a long time ago.

Aloud he says, “Go. Before they catch you.”

And Dean — Hellfire, Dean Smith, Dean Winchester — does.

///

He locks himself in his rooms. Even Claire and Ellen know not to bother him, though Ellen still doesn’t know about Dean. He can’t bring himself to tell her, and he knows it makes him the worst sort of hypocrite. He should get used to that.

Anna told him she blamed the damage to Chuck’s wing on a brief escape attempt, and while Ellen bought that excuse, he knows the kids didn’t. It doesn’t matter. She can untangle her own lies later. He’s too wrung out to deal with her, either. He ignored the pleading look in her eyes in favor of heading straight to bed.

Cas is going to wallow. He’s been doing a lot of wallowing, lately. It’s probably not healthy or mature of him. He doesn’t care.

Cas doesn’t drink this time. He already has a pounding headache, so he lies in bed and stares at the crown molding on the vaulted ceiling and counts all the ways everything went terribly wrong until the sun goes down again. He could do this all night.

But right as the clock strikes ten there’s a knock on the balcony door. Cas doesn’t have to get up to know who it is.

“Come on in,” he calls. “We both know you could break in anyway.”

Dean is nearly silent as enters, closing the door behind him with the softest of _clicks._ “Charlie’s identified several weaknesses in your security system, y’know. She could send a spreadsheet to Anna if you wanted.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

Dean shifts. “I guess I wanted to say a proper goodbye.”

Cas rolls his head to the side to look at Dean. He’s silhouetted by the moonlight, still in all black but in casual clothes — black jeans, black Henley — instead of his Hellfire gear. His hands are shaking. Cas sighs and pats the bed next to him. Dean walks over and sits down. It reminds Cas so much of their first night together — his and Dean _Smith’s_ first night together — it’s painful.

“So.”

“So?”

Dean is close enough to touch, but so far away. “I wanted to… I need to show you something.” He starts to roll up the sleeve on his right arm, and as he does, Cas sits up, shocked. The veins on the arm are angry and black, standing out from his skin like lines of a polluted river. As Dean pushes the sleeve past his forearm, Cas sees the burn scar he wanted to touch when they slept together. It’s inflamed, so much so he can imagine if he touched it now he would feel the fever in it.

“That’s your Mark of Cain?”

“Yeah.” Dean traces the Mark with his pointer finger. “They don’t all look this bad. Charlie’s, Benny’s, your dad’s — theirs are small. They’ve only been in the Pool once.”

_Once_. Cas realizes what that implies with a sickening lurch of his stomach. “But you’ve been in more than once?”

Dean smiles sadly. “I don’t even know how many times Alastair killed me just to throw me in the Pool again. He thought it would make me more powerful, and he was right. It made me powerful enough to escape, eventually.”

Cas looks at the Mark and back at Dean, and he asks the question he’s wanted to ask all along: “Where did you go? Why didn’t you come home?”

“How could I?” Dean asks, and his voice breaks a little. “I was half Demon. I thought Chuck left me behind because he saw what I was. I didn’t know he’d done the same thing to himself. So I stayed away. The MacLeods took me in, fed me, paid me to be a lookout, then a guard for Rowena herself. I was good at it. I did a lot of bad things for a lot of bad people.”

Cas wonders if this is a continuation of Dean’s apology in the cave. Hearing Dean’s voice waver, he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. He’d been so angry, felt so betrayed — but hadn’t Dean, too? Cas hadn’t stopped to think of what it must have felt like to wake up alone with Alastair standing over him, something new and ugly inside him. His one friend, gone. Rescued. A rescue that never came for Dean.

“You thought we abandoned you, and you were trying to survive,” Cas chokes out.

Dean grips the Mark for a moment, then lets go. “My past isn’t pretty. I’m not pretty.” He gestures to his arm with his other hand. “Corruption is a hell of a powerful force. I have to fight it every step I take. I can hardly feel my Grace anymore; I’m more smoke than lightning now. If I’d come back fifteen years ago, angry as I was with you then — it wouldn’t have ended well.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, even though he hadn’t known. He’d been there, in Greece hunting down Demons, and Dean had been so close. If only. _If only._

“I don’t blame you,” Dean says. “You tried to save me. Even after I gave up, you kept trying. That’s kind of your thing.”

Cas reaches out, then stops himself. Dean grabs his hand and pulls it to him, placing it on the Mark. Cas was right — it is hot. It burns under his touch, and instinctively his Grace tries to repel from it. He fights the urge, closes his eyes and feels the twisted knot of skin, the aching darkness beneath. His Grace is almost tentative as it moves through his hand to settle on Dean, soothing as best as he can. It might be his imagination, but to Cas the Mark seems to cool as he presses gently against it, and when he opens his eyes Dean’s veins don’t seem quite so dark and enlarged. He glances up at Dean.

“Huh,” Dean breathes out, eyes on where Cas’s hand is still covering the Mark. “I guess you were helping.”

“What?”

Dean gently moves Cas’s hand away from his forearm. It isn’t in Cas’s imagination — the Mark is less red now. It’s taken on the pinkish-white hue of an old scar. He traces the edge of it with a finger, and Dean shivers.

“Since I’ve been spending time with you, it’s been calmer than it has been in years. I feel it less. I thought it was all in my head, but… It never looks like this. Especially not after a fight.”

“You know,” he says, quietly, still tracing it with a feather-light touch that seems to soothe Dean if the way he starts to lean toward Cas is any indication, “I know a lot of bad people with Grace inside them.” Dean stiffens. “I’m talking about my father. And some others.” He thinks of his old enemies — Metatron, Naomi, Bartholomew, Raphael — their Grace every bit as corrupting as the Mark on Dean’s arm. “It only stands to reason there are good people with Corruption inside them.”

Dean laughs, bitter and a little watery. “I don’t know if I feel good,” he says.

“What do you feel instead?” Cas asks Dean, and Dean says simply, “I feel you.”

Cas keeps his hand on Dean, running his fingers up and down Dean’s arm, and Dean lets him. He gets to a small scar on Dean’s wrist and stops.

“I remember this.”

“Right, well, you gave it to me.” Dean smirks at him.

“I think that was Balth.”

“No, Cas, it was you.” Dean pushes Cas’s finger down, pressing it into the raised skin. “It was during one of your stupid three-on-one spars. I complained about having to fight against all three of you again, and Anna made you switch places with me so I could be on the Angels’ team for once. You always listened to her.”

Cas winces, remembering all the times they’d used Dean to practice their coordinated moves. “God, I was an ass.”

“Yeah, you were.” Dean shrugs with one shoulder. “So Balthazar and I were gonna do that move where you would vault off his knees to do a spin-flip over your opponent, but we didn’t have it down ‘cause I’d never done it before. I ended up not getting high enough to clear you, and instead of just ducking like a normal person, you vaulted me higher in the air by shooting Grace at me. When I landed I broke my wrist.” He wriggles it in front of Cas. “I’ve got a surgery scar because none of you were good enough healers to fix it, and nobody wanted to tell Chuck what happened.”

Cas winces. “To be fair, using my Grace to protect myself was my natural reaction. But I am sorry.”

“I know.” They fall quiet. Dean’s veins and the Mark look noticeably better, but now Cas can see all the scars lining Dean’s arm more clearly.

“Are these from training?”

“No,” Dean says. “Most of them are from Alastair. The Pool fixes everything internal, but it leaves reminders.”

Cas breathes out slowly. All those scars he’d noticed when they slept together are products of the hell Dean lived through, and Dean sees them every day. He’s amazed Dean didn’t kill Alastair, especially with his Corruption urging him on.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly,” he says, coming back to the scar on Dean’s wrist. They both know he’s not just talking about physical scars, though. “All those years of staying aloof, so focused on trying to please someone whose love I couldn’t earn... It wasn’t worth it.”

“I was tougher than I looked,” Dean says, “and I won you over in the end.”

“More than once.” They smile sadly at each other.

“Y’know, it wasn’t all about finding Chuck and Alastair.” Cas’s fingers still. “It was in the beginning, yeah, but— I don’t know, around the time you came to the library I realized that I couldn’t imagine you leaving me there on purpose. I don’t know why I ever thought you did.”

“If I’d known you were still alive, I would have burned that hellhole to the ground to find you,” Cas tells him. “I would have stayed. I would’ve brought you home to Sam.”

Dean’s face falls and he looks at his feet. “You gotta promise me you won’t tell him about me.”

“Why?” Cas keeps track of Sam, has watched his career from afar for years. He’s an attorney in California with a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, and Cas can only imagine how ecstatic he’d be to know Dean is alive.

“I have to keep him out of this,” Dean insists. “He’s the one Winchester with a shot at a normal life, and it’s gonna stay that way. _Please_ , Cas. I’m begging you, and I don’t beg.”

Cas takes in Dean’s expression, eyes wide and pleading. “Alright,” he reluctantly agrees. Dean pulls his arm out of Cas’s grasp and stands.

“I should go,” he says. “The rest of the MacLeods are already on their way here. If I run, hopefully they’ll follow.” He touches Cas’s shoulder, just for a moment. “I don’t want to cause you any more problems.”

Cas stands, too, though his feet are weighed down with lead as he walks with Dean to the balcony door. He takes Dean’s hand in his, squeezes it once. _Goodbye._ He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Dean looks at Cas, wets his lips.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is husky, “you remember our first kiss?”

“At Galaxy?” Cas asks, then he remembers. “Oh. Wait, that’s not what you meant.” It was in their cell in the Demon stronghold. Dean was drifting in and out of consciousness after a vicious beating, and Cas wanted to keep him awake and alert. He tried everything. “Dean, that wasn’t— That was a terrible first kiss.”

He’d never had the opportunity to kiss anyone before. All his life he’d been in training or out on the streets fighting crime. It was only fitting his first kiss would be part of a desperate attempt to save a boy he liked from certain death.

“It was,” Dean agrees. “Let’s make the last one better, okay?” And he leans in.

It’s soft. It’s sweet and gentle and everything Cas would want it to be if he didn’t know it was the last. He can’t handle their last kiss being like this — the opposite of everything they’ve been to each other. So he makes it hard. He grabs Dean’s hair, presses him back against the window. Dean grunts, but then he gives as good as he gets, forcing his tongue into Cas’s mouth. Just like that, it’s something fast and dirty and distracting. _Good_ , Cas thinks. They’re not soft people. They don’t get a soft love.

He yanks Dean’s shirt off first, but Dean is right behind him, pulling Cas’s t-shirt off his head and tossing it across the room. Cas has nothing to hide now, and they’re obviously doing this rough, so he picks Dean up and pins him between his waist and the wall. Dean groans, then grins. It’s a vicious sort of grin, reminds Cas of a boy taunting him during practice fights — _C’mon, is that all you got?_ Cas closes his eyes and dives back in.

They rut against each other, still partially clothed, until Dean pushes Cas away with a hand. Cas drops him, and Dean backs him into the bed, pushes Cas down onto it. He straddles Cas’s lap, yanks him up by the hair for a bruising kiss. Cas follows Dean’s lead, digging his fingers into Dean’s shoulders and then scraping them down his back. Dean bucks in his lap. Cas’s hands go to his zipper.

When Dean pulls back to get his own hands on Cas’s fly, his eyes are black. Abruptly they both still, staring at each other. Dean blinks, and his eyes are green again. Cas thinks _this is a bad idea_.

But Dean doesn’t stop. He closes his eyes like he can’t bear to look at Cas anymore and kisses him thoroughly as he gets a hand in Cas’s pants. Cas can’t help but thrust into the touch, misgivings forgotten. Dean keeps a firm hand rubbing against him, and it almost makes him ache to push Dean off, reversing their positions so he can get their pants off.

There’s lube in the bathroom, and Cas kisses Dean with an “I’ll be right back,” which Dean responds to with a groan. He runs to find it and the condoms, delighted to see they’re still within date. If this is the last time, he knows what he wants. If this is the last time… he can’t think about it anymore.

He stops at the side of the bed, looking over Dean. He’s lying on his back, head pillowed on the arms tucked behind his head. He’s terribly scarred, yes, but he’s also gorgeous. Lean, fit, tan on his arms and legs but pale on his belly and chest.

“What are you waiting for?” Dean asks. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at the goods in Cas’s hand. “Those for me or for you?”

Cas feels like he’s not breathing quite right. “Who… Whoever.”

Dean sits up and pulls him in, and although he starts the kiss slow, he doesn’t wait on Cas to make it desperate. This time Dean is the one holding him like everything is falling apart around them. Dean is the one trying to swallow him whole. When he ends the kiss, Dean says, “Fuck me then.”

“Alright,” Cas breathes.

He wasn’t lying — it’s been a while since he’s done this, and his hands are shaking when he tries to pry the top off the lube. So Dean takes it from him, quick and efficient as he smears lube across his fingers, starts prepping himself. Cas watches, slack-jawed.

“Get the condom on,” Dean pants. “C’mon.”

Cas obeys. He’d do anything Dean asked at this moment. And when Dean directs him inside, it’s such a relief he forgets for a moment that they won’t do this again, and he smiles against Dean’s lips.

“Always wondered what you’d feel like,” Dean says, and his voice is breathier than it’s ever been.

“How does it feel?”

“Good.” Dean kisses him, and it’s too much. It’s not enough. Then he slaps Cas’s ass. “Now fuck me.”

So Cas does.

It starts out brutal, his hips slapping against Dean’s ass at a punishing pace. Dean moans, one hand going up to brace himself against the headboard. Cas has excellent stamina, and he could keep this up all night, but then Dean has to go and stare at him. He holds eye contact steadily, even as he starts to breathe harder, jerking when Cas nails his prostate.

And Cas finds himself slowing down, moving his hips like rippling water rather than an overwhelming tide. Dean wraps his legs around Cas’s back, pulls Cas in. They kiss, and this time neither of them act like they only want it rough.

When he comes, Cas is panting Dean’s name. He’s always been Dean’s, after all.

///

When it’s over and they’re tangled together, limbs crossed and noses pressed against each other, Cas makes a mistake.

“Stay,” he says.

Dean sighs. “I can’t.” Then he kisses Cas. Soft. Sweet. Cas’s heart is breaking. Dean pulls back to look him in the eyes. “But you can come with me. I’m done with Hellfire. Be done with Halo.”

Cas doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, when he became so broken inside that his sense of duty to the stupid mask became the same thing as his sense of self-worth. His father was a narcissistic ass, one sibling can’t stand him and the other one has been lying to him for years, his children are grown and don’t need him... and he still can’t let go of Halo.

Who is he without a mission?

“It’s my life,” he says, and Dean closes his eyes.

///

In the morning, Dean’s gone.


	20. Never Be a Hero

Cas tries to sneak out of the manor in the morning so no one sees his red-rimmed eyes and asks probing questions.

It’s easy to get past Batlhazar’s rooms. If his brother is even here, he’ll be sleeping until mid-afternoon. He assumes Jack is probably in Headquarters, healing his leg or doing his physical therapy exercises. Claire’s been on patrol and he doubts she’s awake. Ellen is in the kitchen making breakfast, but Cas makes it past her easily enough. Anna is the only one he wants to see, and he knows just where to find her.

The receptionist at Shurley Tower does a double-take when he walks in.

“Mr. Novak,” she sputters, doing her best not to gawk at his t-shirt and dirty jeans. “I wasn’t aware you were coming in today, sir.”

“Is my sister in her office?”

“Yes,” the receptionist says. “I can call her—”

Cas is already in the elevator. The security guard takes one look at him and turns the key to go to the top floor, which is populated solely by the two massive offices set aside for the Shurley siblings. Anna is staring out the window at downtown Purgatory when he lets himself into her office.

“Amber told me you were coming,” she says to the skyline. Cas closes the door behind him and leans against it, folding his arms over his chest. “Where’s Dean?”

“He’s gone.”

She swivels around in her chair. Her eyes are red to match his. “I know he was at the manor last night. My security system isn’t as lax as he thinks it is.”

“It’s the redhead who thinks it’s lax. She’s the hacker. Her name’s Charlie. She’s going to send us a list of weak points for you to fix.”

Anna hums, attempting a flat smile. “Another redhead tech genius. My long lost soulmate.”

“Soulmates don’t exist,” Cas says, and the words stick in his throat.

Anna takes in his messy appearance and sighs. “I thought— I’d hoped maybe you’d go with him.”

“He asked me to.”

“But you said no.”

“I have a life here, Anna. Responsibilities. The kids. Halo.” He raises an eyebrow. “Balthazar and you.”

“No offense, Castiel,” Anna says, “but we could function without you. Purgatory could function without you. You could do what’s best for you for once instead of always living for someone else.”

He laughs, sharp and bitter. “That’s rich coming from you. You spent almost fifteen years acting as prison guard to a psychopath just because Chuck asked you to.”

Anna taps her nails against her desk, mouth twisted in a grimace. “All I knew— all he told me — was that he was worried about what would happen to you if you tried to kill Alastair. The Corruption, the Pool… I didn’t know.”

“So you just brought a murderer food and water and toilet paper for years without telling anyone. Kept him locked up illegally right under my nose.”

“He’s too dangerous to do anything else with!” Anna protests. “Do you know how many regular prisons he’s escaped from? I didn’t have a choice, so don’t give me that self-righteous bullshit. And now that you know about it, are you going to do anything differently?”

“I don’t know,” Cas snaps, because he doesn’t. It’s as if Dean’s reached inside of him and grabbed hold of his brain and twisted it. He doesn’t know if there is a right or a wrong anymore. Everything is shades of gray. “But I do know you should have told me! If I’d talked to him, he might have let it slip that Dean was alive!”

Anna’s eyes widen. This is clearly something she hasn’t thought of before. “Cas, I— I’m sorry.”

“I thought you would’ve understood,” he says, voice dropping. “We both know what you did when Jo died.”

“You’re right,” Anna admits. “I took it badly, and I hunted her killer down... but I didn’t kill him.”

“You almost did. You wanted to!”

“I did want to!” she yells, finally responding in kind to his own shouts. Her Grace flares behind her eyes, and Cas takes a second to hope no one else is on this floor. “So I do understand why you wished you’d known about Alastair. Everyone wants their revenge. But here’s where we differ: Jo didn’t get put in some magical pool. She’s never coming back! And the love of _your_ life _is_ back from the dead, but instead of leaving with him you’re still holding on to something that wasn’t even supposed to be yours in the first place!”

Cas furrows his brow, confused. “Are you talking about the company? You practically run it at this point anyway! It doesn’t matter what titles I hold. I don’t give a shit about Shurley Enterprises!”

“No, I’m not talking about the company,” Anna says, lowering her voice. “I’m talking about Halo.”

His stomach drops to his feet. “What are you saying?”

“Dad didn’t ask you first, Cas. He didn’t want you to be Halo. I just let you think that.” She sighs heavily, eyes cast down. “Before he locked himself up, when he asked me to take over Shurley Enterprises as CEO... He also told me he wanted me to be the new Halo. I said no to both.”

Chuck Shurley was not a good father. Intellectually, Cas knows this. To Chuck he and his siblings were weapons at best, mere pawns at worse. He now knows his own father was willing to kill him and drop him in the Resurrection Pool if it meant harnessing more power for the Angels. Cas hates Chuck. This news should not matter to him.

It shouldn’t, but—

But as much as he hates his father, Cas loves ( _loved_ ) the idea of Halo — a shining beacon of hope for a city in despair, a guardian of the people. A hero. When Chuck passed the mask to him as he hid himself away, Cas thought _finally. Finally, he recognizes me for what I am. Finally, he sees all the good I can do. Finally, he trusts me with the one good thing he’s created in his life. He trusts me to make it better. Finally, proof he loves me at least a little._

Chuck hadn’t thought any of that. Chuck never loved him at all. Cas was his last choice. Again.

Everything he’s given up for Halo, he’s given up under the illusion that he was _meant_ for the mask, that he suffered an agony beyond belief for something greater than himself. That Chuck rewarded him for his loyalty and sacrifice. But really, Anna was the number one pick all along.

It occurs to Cas that the reason Chuck didn’t send Balthazar to Greece was because he didn’t think Balthazar was competent, but he didn’t send Anna to Greece because she was the only child Chuck might have actually cared about. The rest of them were expendable.

Cas has always been expendable.

“Why,” he asks slowly, “didn’t you tell me?”

Anna looks like she’s about to cry. “You wanted it so badly, and I didn’t. I knew you would be better at it; I wanted you to feel like you had his blessing—”

“Fuck,” Cas says, and Grace sparks at his fingertips. Anna flinches. “Fuck. This. Family.”

“Castiel—”

He hasn’t burnt himself with his Grace since he was a child, but he clenches his fists so hard he feels it scorching the skin of his palms as he storms out of the building.

///

He’s halfway back to the manor when he gets three texts from Claire in rapid succession.

**_Cas, come home!_ **

**_There’s been a security breach. Someone is in the house!  
_ **

**_It’s a Demon!!_ **

A vice closes around his throat, making it hard to breathe. His heart pounds like it’s going to burst from his chest. Every muscle in his body tenses so much it hurts.

Cas tries to call Claire. Voicemail. Then Jack and Balthazar and Ellen. Voicemail.

He floors it.

_No, no, not again!_

There are blue and red lights in his rearview mirror, and Cas ignores them. He keeps his foot on the gas, presses it all the way down. The speedometer climbs into the red. The cliffs of Purgatory fly by him, inches away from the tires’ rims. One wrong move, and he’ll be freefalling into the ocean in a million-dollar car.

“Call Dean!” He yells into his phone.

Voicemail.

“My kids have spotted a Demon on the Manor grounds,” he says tersely. “Please tell me it’s just you. Call me back.” He hangs up.

There are multiple cop cars behind him now, but they’re fading. They weren’t built with the speed of his sports car, and the police don’t have the reflexes to drive the razor’s edge of the cliffs like him. He does not slow, and he does not stop.

_Not again, not again._

Shurley Manor comes into view as he turns a sharp corner. Chuck’s wing is engulfed in flames.

Cas only slows down enough to skid to a halt on the front lawn, tires spewing mud, dirt and flowers in a wide arc behind him. Ellen’s out there, hair and eyes wild, and she sprints toward him the second he throws the door open.

“The kids!” She’s close enough now he can see the tear streaks on her cheeks. “I just got out. I don’t where the kids are; I thought they’d be out here—”

Cas puts his hands on her shoulders and squeezes. “Okay, where were they when you saw them last?”

“Claire was still in bed when I brought up breakfast, but Jack wasn’t in his room—”

“Balthazar?”

She shakes her head. “No, no he left for the airport this morning.”

“Good.” He shakes Ellen a little to keep her focused. “Stay out here and call Anna. Tell her to come _now_. The police are behind me, make sure they get the fire department here.”

Cas kisses her on the forehead and runs for the house.

Smoke has settled along the ceiling of the enormous main hall, but it’s clear the actual fire hasn’t reached the front of the manor yet. Cas takes the stairs three at time, leaping across the landing in a single bound. It’s harder to breathe the higher he climbs and the closer he gets to the smoke, but the kids’ rooms are on the second floor.

“CLAIRE!” He screams. “JACK!” His voice echoes through the empty halls. In the distance, he hears a faint thudding sound, like something’s collapsed. The smoke is growing darker. The fire must be growing. “JACK! CLAIRE!”

“CAS!” A voice screams from down the hall. Cas uses his Grace to push the smoke toward the walls, creating a tunnel down the center of the corridor. It’s Claire, bent over as she runs toward him.

“Are you hurt?” he demands, pulling her into his arms. Claire presses her head into his chest, and he feels something wet through his shirt. She’s crying. “Claire!”

“I tried,” she says, and he takes a step back, still holding on to her arms. Her hand comes away from her side, and it’s soaked with blood. “I promise I tried.” Claire starts sobbing, and Cas pulls her behind him, moving back toward the grand staircase. She follows right on his heels, her face pressed into his back.

“Where’s Jack?” he asks, and Claire says, muffled and wet, “I don’t know, I don’t know; he’s not in his room...”

“What happened?” Cas picks her up and carries her down the stairs so she can use both hands to cover her wound. The smoke is getting thicker still, and he has to use his Grace to find his footing.

“I saw him on the security camera.” She coughs, and then groans. “The Demon. I tried to confront him. I tried to stop him…”

“Shhh,” Cas soothes, setting her down on her feet as gently as he can once they’re in the foyer. “You did your best. Listen to me, Claire—” Her blue eyes are teary as she focuses on his. “I have to go back and find Jack.”

“I can come—”

“You’re hurt,” he says. “You need to get out, find Ellen, and get help.” He cups her face between his palms. “I won’t lose you because you’re too stubborn to know when to quit.”

“Dad, I failed,” she says, and Cas’s heart breaks.

_You’re a better_ dad _than him._ At least he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to be, if he makes it out of this alive.

“Claire, I love you, and you have _never_ failed me. Not once,” he says with utmost conviction. “I don’t always say it like I should, but I am so proud of you. And now I need you to go get help. I need you to be _safe._ ”

She nods, tears streaming down her cheeks, and it physically pains Cas to pull his hands away from her and run back up the staircase and into the fire. One kid safe, one still lost. He dashes through the thickening smoke, blinking back tears as it burns his eyes. He has to use his Grace to keep his breathing regular, but it’s still an uphill battle. He tries to yell for Jack, but the screams don’t echo this time.

_Where is he?_ If he was in Headquarters, then he’s safe and Cas is slowly killing himself for nothing. But if he’s up here somewhere—

Cas turns down the hall that leads to Chuck’s rooms. He sees the flames for the first time. They’re coming from the doorway at the far end, Chuck’s doorway, crawling up the walls and devouring the portraits and paintings.

There, in the center of the inferno, stands a thin, ragged figure with white, glowing eyes.

“Alastair,” Cas says, and he calls his Grace to his hands.

“Daddy’s dead.” The flames almost seem to avoid Alastair as he walks slowly down the hall, like he’s the one in control of them. Cas’s eyes widen. “You’re too late.”

Cas braces himself and throws up a shield, but the brunt of the blast Alastair throws still shoves him back. Cas moves his hands forward as soon as he’s centered again, trying to push back with his Grace, but Alastair is unaffected. The Demon cackles. How he hates that sound.

“Cas!” Jack’s voice, coming from somewhere behind Alastair.

“Jack!” Cas has to dodge another blow from Alastair, ducking under a column of smoke that looks similar to Dean’s. This is no normal Demon, and Cas has to get past him alone.

“I think the line of Charles Shurley ends here and now,” Alastair taunts, holding his hands out, flames dancing in his palms. Cas gapes at him. Behind Alastair’s shoulder, he sees movement. It’s Jack, trapped in the corner by Chuck’s door, face bloodied but eyes determined. He’s spinning a ball of Grace between his hands. As Alastair readies another blow, Jack throws it at his head, knocking the Demon to the ground with an audible _crack_.

When Alastair lifts his head, there’s a gash the size of Cas’s pointer finger running from his hairline to his nose. Alastair’s mouth contorts into a vicious snarl.

“You’ll regret that,” he says, pushing himself off the floor. Cas aims another blast at him, but Alastair counteracts it with a wave of new smoke that obscures the far end of the hall. He strains with his Grace to see his target, but he spots something else — a blur of motion passing on his right, headed straight the center of the flames.

The blur collides with Alastair, and they both go toppling to the floor as the smoke lets up slightly. Jack scrambles past the two fighting figures, holding on to the wall for balance until Cas reaches him. He lifts Jack like he did Claire, straining under the extra weight.

Cas turns to look at Alastair, and he sees the Demon throw off his attacker. Dean Winchester hits the ground with a groan.

  
“Dean!”

“Get the kid outta here!” Dean yells. He’s already on his feet, moving into a fighting stance. “I’ll hold him off!”

The fire crackles as it surges over their heads. Cas hears wood popping and shifting. If they don’t get out of here soon, this wing of the manor is coming down around them. He grips Jack tightly in his arms, says, “I _will_ come back for you this time.”

As he’s leaving, he hears Dean say, “I know you will.”


	21. Fight Off the Kryptonite

He has to carry Jack all the way outside. The boy has a broken leg, and who knows where his crutches are. Probably melted into the floor somewhere. Jack coughs like his lungs are burning as they burst through the door, and Cas sympathizes. He feels like he’s been swallowing smoke, the lining of his esophagus soaked in soot. He’s barely stumbled down the steps when Anna reaches them, taking Jack from him.

“What happened?” she asks, and Jack leans into her as she helps him stand on his healed leg..

“I don’t know,” Jack says, coughing between words. “I just went to go check on Grandpa, and this Demon was there.”

“Alastair,” Cas says, and Anna’s mouth falls open. “I have to go back, Dad and Dean are inside.”

“No, Grandpa’s dead,” Jack says, and his voice cracks. He slumps more heavily against Anna’s side, pressing his bloody face into her shoulder. “He caught me by surprise; I wasn’t strong enough to stop him—”

“Don’t,” Cas says, squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “You did nothing wrong, alright? Nothing. I love you, and I’m glad you’re okay.”

Today both of his children faced an incredibly overpowered Demon, a type of enemy they’d never really encountered before, and both made it out with their lives. That’s all that matters to Cas. He’ll let himself process Chuck’s death later. There’s no time now, not with Dean still battling Alastair in a burning building.

“Take him to the medics,” Cas tells Anna, spotting the emergency vehicles covering the far end of the lawn. The fire department has arrived, and they’re uncoiling their hoses. They won’t be fast enough to save the manor. “I’m going back in for Dean.”

“If you’re not out in two minutes, I’m coming in after you,” Anna says, but she helps a limping Jack away from the fire as Cas bolts back inside.

The whole building is straining as it falls apart. Part of the foyer roof has collapsed into the grand staircase, and Cas skirts the burning debris on his tiptoes, hesitant to touch too much of the burning floor beneath him. The smoke is black and fills the room, and his Grace works overtime to allow him to see through it.

Even superpowered, he won’t last too long like this. Cas needs to find Dean and get out.

Turns out, he’s in the same place as before.

As Cas turns the corner into Chuck’s former wing, he sees the flames have parted around Dean and Alastair. The two are battling each other with their Corruption, different shades of smoke swirling and lashing out from their fists. They’re evenly matched, but Cas isn’t going to let this be a fair fight. He announces his return by throwing a blast of Grace at Alastair’s head.

Alastair dodges it, then slams Dean back with an outstretched hand. “Welcome back, Shield!” he croons. “Nice of you to join us!”

Cas’s eyes flare.

_They’re huddled together in a freezing cell. No one told him hell would be so cold. Dean’s dying, and Cas knows he needs to stay awake, to try to keep Dean talking and moving, try to keep him warm. His arms ache from the beatings and from holding his friend, and his head feels so, so heavy. He kisses Dean’s cheek, says, “Stay with me, okay?” Dean doesn’t respond. Cas’s eyelids are getting heavy._

_He falls asleep. When he wakes, they’re pulling Dean from his arms._

_Alastair laughs, and Cas tries to scream, to let loose his Grace and obliterate Alastair, but he can’t. Alastair keeps laughing. Cas keeps screaming._

_He’s useless. He watches his only real friend die, and he can’t do anything to save him._

_He’s crying too hard to speak when it’s over. Alastair walks to the cell and pokes at Cas with the bloodied pipe._

_“This is all your fault,” he says in his sing-song voice. “We didn’t even want him, but he had to come and try to rescue you.” Dean’s blood smears across Cas’s chest as Alastair prods at him with the pipe. Cas can’t breathe. He’s lightheaded, like he’s going to pass out, and it would be a relief he doesn’t deserve. “If you’d fought back a little harder, poor little Dean might still be alive.”_

This time will be different.

Cas lets loose a primal and deafening yell as he releases his Grace. It bursts from him like a geyser, flooding the smoky air and breaking every pane of unbroken glass left in the hallway. The fire is flung back against the walls and ceiling as his Grace barrels down the center of the hallway, a bluish glow emanating from his hands and mouth and swallowing everything in its path.

Alastair’s eyes widen, horrified. _Good._ The Grace hits him, slamming him into the wall at the far end of the hallway. It looks like Alastair sceams, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. Cas can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears.

Cas has never let go this long before. His entire body vibrates like a tuning fork, and his vision starts to blur as the room swims in brilliant light. He’s trying to focus on Alastair, to keep a hold on his Grace, but Cas feels his feet slipping, his arms quacking.

_You have to shape it, don’t let it shape you,_ a voice warns him, and he should recognize it but he doesn’t.

The Demon — the enemy — is disintegrating.

Corruption is bleeding into the Grace now, pouring out of the enemy’s pores and poisoning the air around it. Cas falls to his knees, and his Grace still rages around him. The walls are crumbling and the floor is cracking.It’s out of control, and he should do something—

He should—

“Cas!” There’s someone at his side, their head pressed against his shoulder. They’re bleeding against him. He can feel it through his torn shirt. “Cas, call it back!”

_Call what back_ , he wonders, and he feels something wet trickle from his nose, run down over his lips. _Oh_. He’s bleeding, too.

“Cas, please!” He wonders who _Cas_ is. Maybe they could stop this pounding in his head. It hurts so much, and he just wants it to be over with. “You’re going to kill us all! Call it back!”

“I don’t—” He doesn’t have any words left. His mouth is filling with blood. He closes his eyes against the blinding light surrounding him. The other person is screaming, but he can’t hear them. He hears nothing but the ringing.

He needs to remember something.

Something wet against his ear. Words being shouted. “Listen to me, Cas!” it says. “It’s Dean, Cas! It’s Dean!”

He… He remembers Dean.

_Dean Winchester, a stubborn teenager with an attitude who is not as naturally gifted as his brother, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to train with the Angels no matter how many times they knock him down. He’s going to win Cas over with his stupid jokes and endless pop culture references. He’s going to die, but he’s going to come back as Dean Smith. Dean Smith, a stubborn reporter with an attitude who makes Cas question everything, makes him want_ more _out of life. He’s going to win Cas over with his pointed barbs and his perfect smiles. He’s going to die if Cas can’t remember..._

_I’m Cas,_ he thinks, _and that’s Dean. It’s always been Dean._

He reaches out his arms, straining to hold them up in the winds whipping around him, and he calls his Grace back.

///

There’s a bright light shining down on him. Maybe it’s the sun? Cas tries to turn his head to get away, but he finds he can’t move it. He grunts, a frustrated noise from low in his throat. Someone’s palm touches his forehead.

“Uncle Cas,” the boy’s voice says, “sleep, okay?”

He sleeps.

///

The next time he wakes, he realizes the light is hospital fluorescents. He realizes this after he feels the cannula in his nose and the IV drip taped to his wrist.

  
“Fuck,” Cas mutters, because this is not the Headquarters infirmary. He tries to sit up. Anna is there to push him back down.

“Don’t,” she warns him. “You’re hooked up to a lot of machinery right now. You don’t want to set all their alarms off.”

“Anna,” he pants, and the word barely comes out. His throat is so parched. She hands him a plastic cup full of water, and Cas downs it in one go.

“Yes, you’re in Purgatory Hospital. Don’t give me that look, I dragged your unconscious ass out of a burning building.” She frowns at him. “Yours and Dean’s, so give me a little credit here. You wouldn’t be in the hospital unless we had no other choice. And we didn’t. Jack needed help healing you.”

“Dean? The kids?” This is not good, none of this is good, but maybe it’s salvageable. If Dean and his kids are okay, anything is salvageable.

Anna’s face softens. “Jack and Claire are fine. Jack had superficial injuries that he healed himself, and he fixed Claire’s wound easily enough. He had a harder time with you and Dean. Cas, what did you do?”

“Where is Dean?” Cas demands, pushing up on his elbows. He may be in no shape to walk out of here, but he’ll try his damndest if Anna doesn’t answer his questions _now_.

“In the room next door.” She pushes him down easily. “He’s awake now, relax. Ellen is with him.”

Cas closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he says again, softer this time.

“Yes, fuck,” Anna agrees, frowning. “She’s already threatened to kill us for withholding that particular bit of news from her, though I suspect she’ll wait to murder you until after you’re out of the hospital.”

“Does his family know?” Cas asks, and Anna nods.

“They’re on their way. You’ve only been out about twelve hours, so they should be here soon. I guess they had flights to catch.”

Cas thumps his head against the rock hard hospital pillow and stares up at the whitewashed ceiling. “This is going to be such a mess.”

“Tell me about it,” Anna says jokingly, though her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve had to send out so many PR reports it’s insane. We’re saying the house caught fire due to a gas leak. Some of the emergency workers probably know that’s a lie, but no one’s talking.” She pats his hand lightly. “This city is more loyal to you than you know.”

Cas wishes he found that more comforting than he does. “Dad?”

Her smile cracks, and her lip wobbles. “Dad’s gone. Jack said Alastair killed him before starting the fire.”

His voice is flat when he asks, “How are you going to spin that one?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Anna scolds, and Cas feels a stab of guilt when a tear runs down her cheek. She brushes it away. “I told the truth. Or most of it. That Chuck Shurley had been in hospice care at the manor for the past decade and we’d kept it quiet because it was a family matter. He died in the fire.” She pauses. “As for Alastair, well… There was hardly anything left of him. It’s been taken care of.”

Again, he finds little relief in this. “How did he get out?”

“The MacLeods. I’ve been talking to Charlie, and she thinks you were followed when you went to confront him. They managed to turn off my alarm system in the caves somehow, but Crowley MacLeod was caught on the camera. He must have let Alastair loose to do his dirty work.”

“You need better security systems.”

Anna sniffs. “I’m going to let that slide because you’re hurt.”

“Don’t let it slide,” Cas says, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling again. “Be angry with me. I’m still angry with you.”

“Castiel—”

“You lied to me,” he says flatly. “For him.”

That’s the worst of it, in the end. He’s trusted Anna more than anyone his entire life, and for most of their adult life she’s been keeping secrets for their father. His chest heaves and a lump settles in his throat. His eyes start to burn. Cas is going to cry, and he doesn’t know if he’s crying for Chuck or Anna or Dean or all three.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she tries to take his hand. He pulls it back. He doesn’t need to look at her to see her flinch.

“Leave,” Cas says, and Anna protests, “Cas—”

Before he can tell her again, the door to his room swings open. Cas lifts his head, expecting to see a nurse come to check on him. Instead he sees Ellen, eyes wild.

“I just went—” She starts, then she begins to cry. “I just stepped out for a second, and Dean—” Cas’s heart sinks. “Dean’s left. He just… left.”

Cas’s head drops back to his pillow. Anna and Ellen are talking over each other, trying to decide where to look and who to call. _Sam and John Winchester are on their way, what will we tell them, where could he have gone, why would he leave..._

They leave the room, so focused on problem-solving they forget he’s still there, trapped in a bed, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Of course Dean is gone. He was going to leave anyway. He came back because Cas needed him, and then Cas almost got him killed. Again. Of course he’d run away after that.

Cas closes his eyes and starts to cry. Heavy, body wracking tears that make him ache all over. He is crying for Dean and Anna and Chuck. He’s crying for his whole life, marked and ruined by secrets and lies. And once he’s started, he can’t seem to stop.


	22. Heart is an Awesome Superpower

_One Month Later…_

“Again,” Cas orders.

“Ugh,” Claire groans, swinging her arms back and forth as she returns to her mark. “We’ve only done this like fifty times.”

Jack, for his part, squares back up without complaining. He’s moving with ease, Cas notes with satisfaction. Though Claire is exaggerating, they have been practicing all morning and he’s more than holding his own against her.

“Again,” Cas says, and Claire sighs. But when Jack volleys his Grace at her, she creates a perfect shield to block it. Cas smiles. “Switch.”

As Claire is instructing Jack on how to hold his hands to create a better Grace shield, Cas sees movement across the lawn. Balthazar is traipsing through the slightly singed topiaries, making his way toward them. Cas lifts a hand in a lazy greeting.

“Alright,” Balth says with a huff as he gets closer, deflecting a stray blast of Grace from Jack with a wave of his hand. “I’m not your messenger service. You two have got to start talking to each other at some point.”

“I’m sure we will. At some point.” Cas holds his palm out, and Balthazar slaps a stack of papers into it with an eye roll. Cas flips through them, quickly scanning to be sure everything is in order. “Looks good at first glance. Tell Anna I’ll review and then sign later today.”

Balthazar sighs. “As if it’s not bad enough you’re giving away almost our entire fortune, now I’ve got to be the go-between when you and I are meant to need a go-between—”

“It’s not our entire fortune,” Cas corrects. “You’ll have plenty left to live a comfortable life; the kids will have enough to keep the Angels running if they choose to…”

“And you’re going to solve world hunger and live in a tent in the wilderness, yes, I’ve heard it all already.” But Balthazar smiles, just slightly. “I do kind of love it, just thinking of what Chuck’s reaction would have been. I bet he’s rolling in his grave right now. Halo retiring, his company disbanding, his money disbursed to a bunch of poor people while I still get to keep my allowance.” Cas gives him the stink eye. “Hey, I’m saying it’s brilliant! If it were up to him, he’d have it horded forever, and I would get none of it. So, cheers.” Balth punches him on the shoulder. “You’re a self-righteous lout sometimes, but you’re also a better man than him, Cassie.”

Cas winces and rubs his shoulder. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Now, I’m tired of infringing on Ellen’s hospitality, so I’m flying out today. You’re going to have to talk to Anna yourself from now.” Balthazar raises an eyebrow at Cas’s grimace. “Be upset with her all you want, but you can’t keep this up forever. Ellen’s getting tired of it, too.”

“I’ll think about it,” Cas mutters, and Balthazar says, “Right, well. That’s the best I could expect.”

As his brother begins to walk away, Cas calls out, “Wait!” Balth turns around, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Just— Thank you. For coming back and helping with—” Cas gestures to the burnt shell of the manor, now hidden under scaffolding as something a lot smaller and more realistic takes its place. “With everything. I know we don’t always get along, but it… It meant a lot that you were here.”

Balthazar shrugs as if he could care less, but Cas sees through it. “We’re still family. A fucked-up family, but…” His lips quirk, and he nods toward the kids, still practicing. “The next generation might be better.”

Cas looks at Jack and Claire, sweaty but laughing as they experiment with some new move. “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “I’m counting on it.”

Just to be contradictory as always, Claire knocks Jack off his feet at that moment with a loud “Ha!”

“Fine, you win!” Jack says as she stands over him, laughing. He falls back to the ground, arms spread wide. “Ugh, Cas, can we take a break now?”

He’s tempted to say no, but, as he reminds himself daily, he is not his father. “Go for it,” Cas tells them, and Jack immediately pops up and takes off jogging toward Ellen’s house. Cas smells the pie on the wind and rolls his eyes fondly.

“You better get going or he’ll eat the whole thing,” he warns Claire as she comes to stand beside him.

Claire stretches, arms held high above her head and fingers interlocked. “I wanted to talk to you,” she says.

“About what?”

She gives him a killer side glare. “I heard Balthazar say you’re retiring.”

“Oh.” His mouth dries. Claire raises an eyebrow.

“That’s what the increased training is for, isn’t it? You’re finally going to name the new Halo.”

“Well—”

“Don’t pick me,” she rushes to say. “I know I’m the one who’s been bugging you for years to let us have more responsibility, and I am ready. I mean, I want it. I want it real bad. And I know Jack and I can handle it, but we have to do it together.” Claire pauses, biting her lip. “I’ve heard the stories about the Trinity falling apart, and I don’t want anything like that to happen to us. I don’t want it to feel like a contest, and I don’t want to fight with him the way you’re fighting with Anna right now. So, just— You can pick Jack. I’ll stick to being Divinity.”

“Claire,” Cas says, overwhelmed. He’s not sure he can think of a time when he’s been more proud of her. “I was so worried about you being ready, but—” He huffs a laugh. “That took a lot of maturity.”

“So,” she says, flustered by the praise and rocking back on her heels, “you’re gonna make Jack Halo?”

“No.” Cas puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it. “No one needs to be the new Halo. I don’t need either of you to try to be me or Chuck or anyone else. Jack’s Nephilim, you’re Divinity. You’ll be better heroes than I was, and you’ll do it on your own terms. Deal?”

Claire grins up at him, bright and beautiful, then pulls him in for a tight hug. “Deal.”

When she pulls back, Cas keeps his hands on her arms. “Be careful,” he says, and though he has so much more he wants to say — so many warnings and admonishments, so many lessons to impart — he keeps it at that. She’s an adult, and she’s made her choice. At some point, he needs to start respecting it.

“We will be,” she promises. “We’ll make you proud.”

And he believes her.

///

A few days later, Cas is waiting in line to board a plane. It’s a new process to him. When he was a foster child no one ever traveled with him, and when Chuck adopted him private jets became the preferred form of travel. It’s a little intimidating to go through airport security for the first time, but he’s faced worse.

Cas is rereading his seat number for the fifth time — he doesn’t want to forget it as soon as he boards and hold up the line — when his phone rings. Anna’s name and face flash across the screen. For a moment Cas considers rejecting her.

He remembers what Balthazar said, _we’re still a family_ , and he takes the call.

“Hello?”

“Cas.” She sounds shocked that he answered. “I’m glad I caught you.”

A weighted silence falls. Cas picks some lint off his jacket sleeve as the line moves forward.

“Well,” Anna says, “I just wanted to let you know that everything's in place for the dissolution of Shurley Enterprises. I’ve scheduled a board meeting three weeks from now for you to make your official announcement, but the behind the scenes stuff is set.”

He’s almost to the gate check. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cas rubs at his neck. He wishes things weren’t so awkward between them, but he can’t deny he’s still angry with her. At the same time, he keeps thinking about Claire stepping in and asking him to give the mask to Jack. He’d respected that decision, taken it for the sign of personal growth it was. Did Anna do the same thing for him, years ago? Did she ask Chuck to pick him because she knew he needed it more and she loved him enough to let him have it?

He’ll have to ask her someday. Someday, they need to talk about their father and their upbringing, Halo and Shurley Enterprises, Dean and Alastair. Just— Not today. He has a flight to catch.

“Anna, I’ve got to go,” Cas says, and he hears her sigh across the line.

“Alright. Be safe,” she says. “Don’t forget about us while you’re gone.”

“I could never,” Cas says, and he means it. He might be chasing after his future here, might be choosing himself for once, but they are family, fucked up or not. He’ll never leave them behind. He’s not his father.

There’s a hint of a smile in her voice when Anna says, “Good. See you around, Castiel.”

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

///

Dean Winchester is on a beach in Corfu, looking out over the water with his feet in the ocean when Cas walks up behind him.

“I know you’re there, Cas,” Dean says without turning around.

Cas shakes his head. So much for the element of surprise. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns to face him, a small wave washing over his feet. He smiles. God, Cas loves that smile. “So. You made your choice, huh?”

“I got your message.”

Three days after he got out of the hospital, he found the letter in the drawer of his office desk, in the same spot where Dean once left his phone number on Cas’s personal stationary.

_Cas,_ it read. _First off, I’m sorry to bust out without saying goodbye. I wanted to come see you, but when I heard Sam and my dad were on their way I couldn’t stick around. The MacLeods aren’t finished with me yet, and I can’t drag my family into that mess._

_Maybe it makes me a dick, but I also can’t face them yet. Ellen was hard enough. Did you hear her yelling at me? She probably woke up half the hospital. Guess you’ll have gotten that lecture, too, by now… I know she’s just upset I didn’t come back home after Greece, but it’s not like I could explain what I was doing instead… or why I didn’t feel like I could come back. Hey, so it turns out no one I loved is giving up on me just ‘cause I have a little black smoke inside me, but they still don’t know the shit I’ve done. Makes me wish I came home from the beginning, but… so it goes._

_I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. How not everyone with Grace is good and so not everyone with Corruption has to be bad. I know you’re right. Charlie and Benny, they’re good people, but they’ve only been in the Pool once. It doesn’t have its claws in them the way it does with me. You have no idea how_ angry _I’ve been the past fifteen years. It’s like I have this constant scratching in my skull and under my skin, and the only cure for the itch is violence. I’ve tried to direct that violence at people who deserve it, but I haven’t always succeeded. Even my best laid plans to take down the bad guys sometimes have unintended consequences. You were right — I didn’t really think about what bringing the Demons back would mean for Purgatory or for you. To be honest, I didn’t really care until I got to know you again. And for that I’m sorry._

_But I want you to know you made it easier for me to feel better, to be better. I don’t know what it is, Cas — your Grace, you, or some combo platter, but as we got closer the Mark felt less intense. It picked up steam again with Dagon and Alastair, yet you still calmed it with a fucking touch. I lost track of my mission so many times when I was around you, and it’s not just because you felt like my own personal anti-Corruption balm — you felt like_ home _. I’d missed you so much, and I hardly let myself acknowledge that until it was too late. I still miss you right now._

_Before I go, I have to set your mind at ease — us getting trapped in Corfu wasn’t your fault. Your dad did that to us. It was fucked up and it never should have happened, but the shit they did to me wasn’t on you. I blame Chuck and Azazel and Alastair, but I don’t blame you. So stop blaming yourself._

_I also want to thank you for killing Alastair. I know you’re probably beating yourself up about how it all went down, thinking you broke a code you didn’t want to break, but Cas — you did the best you could. He could have killed us both in there, and we’re still standing because you did something crazy that_ worked. _You’re always trying your best, and I admire the hell out of that. Makes me want to be better. You’re a good man. Fuck your dad. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but… no, just fuck him. You deserved so much more than he could give._

_Anyway, as an unintended bonus, when your Grace washed over me in the manor that day it burned like hell and I thought I was dying — but when I woke up in the hospital, the Mark was gone. I don’t know what it means, Cas. I still have the same powers (trust me, I’ve tried them out) so I must still be Corrupted. But I no longer feel enraged. I feel at peace. Like your Grace knew me and it knew what I needed, and it burned away the worst parts of me and left me feeling_ whole _._

_Cas, I know it’s a miracle, and I don’t believe in shit like that._ You’re _my miracle. And I started writing this with the intention of nobly letting you go at the end, but now… I don’t want to._

_So let me ask you one more time, in case you’ve changed your mind._

_You’ve got access to two particularly wicked redheads who know how to find me, so — come with me?_

_Yours,_

_Dean_

“Did you read my last _Piper_ article too?” Dean’s still grinning, and Cas smiles back.

“Scintillating. Attempted murder, extortion, and embezzlement rampant among Purgatory’s upper class — it’s destroyed the stock values of half their companies. But I must say I’m shocked Turner ran it, considering the anonymous source at the center of the Roman Inc. scandal.”

“Oh, Turner didn’t know I was publishing it. That was all Charlie. And once something’s on the internet, you can’t take it back. Plus—” Dean raises his eyebrows pointedly, “—I know the source, and I happen to trust him with my life. Thank Anna for the info dump when you get the chance.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment. Thousands of miles and fifteen years, and they’re back here. Cas has left his family, his home, and his mask behind to return to the place where he once lost everything, and he should be afraid.

He isn’t.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asks. The sun is setting behind him, casting a golden glow across his freckled skin. Before it all went to hell, Cas once fell in love with him here, on this beach.

He wants to do it again.

“I realized I couldn’t live my life for a man I despise,” Cas says. “Or give up everything I want for a city that will be okay without me when I don’t think I’ll be okay without you.”

Dean’s eyes look a little wet. “That’s— That’s good. I think we’re better together.”

“We’ve always made a good team, you and I.”

“You want to take down some more bad guys?” Dean asks. “I know you’re retired, but we could do one last run. I was gonna start with blocking off the Pool, then progress to the MacLeods. Maybe take a tour of Europe in between, since I now have a sugar daddy.”

Cas can’t stand not touching him for a moment longer. He wades into the surf. “Oh, you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Dean asks, throwing his arms around Cas’s neck and pressing their foreheads together, his breath mingling with Cas’s.

“I’m a man of the people now,” Cas says against Dean’s lips, hands settling on his hips. “I dissolved my father’s company and gave almost all my inheritance away.”

Dean’s smile grows, highlighting the little wrinkles around his eyes. “No shit. You’re having a midlife rebellion.”

“Well, someone once told me I could do more good with my money than I could as Halo, so—” Dean silences him with a kiss and Cas’s arms tighten around his waist, pulling them closer together until there’s no space left between them.

Dean told Cas his mere presence helped calm him, helped heal the Mark and made him forget the pain. He hasn’t told Dean that he does the same for Cas. When they kiss, when Cas holds Dean in his arms, it all melts away — the fear of this place, the blur of the lost years, the anger at his father. Dean feels like coming home.

He feels like peace.


End file.
